


Build It Better

by Anonymous



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, M/M, Mpreg, Wishbabies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Congratulations, Steve. You’re having a baby.”





	1. Chapter 1

“Congratulations, Steve. You’re having a baby.”

Steve stares, and Dustin, who’d insisted that Steve go see Dr. Owens after Steve had thrown up for the _umpteenth_ time, and then decided to tag along as moral support—bless the boy—falls into a dead faint, which really is the only appropriate reaction in a situation like this.

Steve would have done it himself, and he _is_ feeling distressingly faint, but he stays upright by sheer strength of will alone; he doesn’t think falling to the ground unconscious would be a good idea right now—what with him being pregnant and all.

_What the fuck?_

**

So here’s the thing: Steve has not had sex in _months_. Steve has not had the kind of sex that would result in him being pregnant _ever_ , because he’s never trusted anyone enough to be vulnerable like that.

Which, of course, means it’s a wishbaby.

Steve has not wished for a baby.

“A _thousand_ per cent sure,” Steve says, somewhat hysterical, when Dr. Owens asks him if he’s absolutely sure he hasn’t been thinking about babies lately— _you’re a teenager, it’s not unusual for teenagers to get a little overzealous once you start dating. And it’s easy to forget your wish suppressors. Statistically speaking, teen pregnancies account for—_

 _I’m not a statistic!_ Steve had cut him off emphatically. And he hasn’t forgotten his wish suppressors. Not even once.

Dr. Owens looks at him sceptically at this, and Steve scowls. Is Dr. Owens even qualified for this sort of thing? Steve is not even sure he’s a medical doctor.

They should have gone to the hospital or the clinic in town, except Dustin had very reasonably pointed out that it might be smart to see Owens first. _Just in case it has something to do with, well, you know._

Yes. Steve does know, because he still keeps the barbed bat underneath his bed. Just in case.

“How—how did this happen?” Steve croaks out, and Dr. Owens smiles sympathetically once he accepts that Steve hasn’t, in fact, foregone one of his pills.

It’s rare, the doctor explains, but it would appear as if someone else has wished Steve pregnant. Apparently, someone has looked at Steve and wanted so badly that their wish had overpowered Steve’s suppressors, which should be impossible according to everything Steve knows.

“Actually,” Dr. Owens starts, and it turns out everything Steve knows is _wrong_.

Steve hates sentences that starts with the word ‘actually’.

_Actually, wish suppressors only work if used correctly._

_Actually, wish suppressors are sometimes defect._

_Actually, sometimes someone just wants it badly enough and a baby is wished into existence even with the suppressors. We don’t know why._

Steve fucking _hates_ the word ‘actually.’

“You probably shouldn’t be swearing so much,” Dustin says as they’re driving home later.

Steve tightens his grip on the wheel. He probably isn’t in any state to be operating heavy machinery, but it’s not as if he was about to let Dustin drive. Christ.

“What?”

“I mean, you’re having a baby. You probably shouldn’t be swearing around the baby. They pick that shit up really quick.”

Dustin rambles a story about Mike and Nancy’s little sister and how she’d spent a solid week saying nothing but _crap_ and _bastard_ and how Mike had been in _so much trouble_ and it would have been funny if Dustin wasn’t telling him this story because _Steve_ is having a baby.

In just half a year or so, Steve is going to have a baby who will one day say _crap_ and _bastard_ and a whole host of other words and what the fuck is Steve even going to do?

“It’ll be okay, you know,” Dustin says when Steve drops him off. He looks more serious than he usually lets himself get—and Steve remembers, even with demogorgons out to kill them, Dustin had been sporting a goofy grin for most of the time. “Whatever you want to do, you won’t have to do it alone. I’ll be here, and the others too. And there’s all kinds of assistance programs for wishbaby parents. I’ll do some research, okay?”

Steve manages to dredge up a watery smile. He hasn’t decided what to do yet, if he wants to keep the baby or—

Or.

He’s only known for a couple of hours, and how the hell is he supposed to make this kind of life changing decision in just a few days, nevermind _hours?_  Steve is kind of freaking out a lot. He’s eighteen, weeks away from graduation with no immediate plans for the future, and single. Very, very single.

He’s a trust fund baby, so he’s financially set because his parents have always preferred throwing money at him rather than spending actual time with their only child, and even if he doesn’t think they’ll cut him off, Steve is going to have to tell them about the baby if he wants to keep it—Steve is pretty sure even the news of a grandchild won’t be enough for his parents to return to Hawkins from their jet setting life.

And that is such a sad commentary on the state of his life that Steve feels a little like crying.

Steve is alone. If he’s doing this, he’s going to have to do it on his own, except—

Except he’s not entirely on his own, because Dustin had said, _I’ll be here_ and _you won’t have to do it alone_.

To Steve’s utter dismay, he feels his eyes water at the realisation. He blames it on the hormones. “Okay,” he agrees, his voice a little shaky, and sometimes it takes his breath away that not that long ago, Steve hadn’t even known who Dustin was and now he can’t imagine life without him. He’s the little brother Steve never knew he needed and didn’t think he would want.

He’s Steve’s family in every way that matters.

He loves him so much, and Steve hasn’t actually ever told him that before so, “I love you, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dustin’s delighted grin and cheerful, “Love you too!” is totally worth the hormonal imbalance currently wreaking havoc on Steve’s body—on account of the baby.

Seriously, what the _fuck_?

**

Because he’s so far along even though he’s not showing _at all_ , Steve has less than a week to decide if he wants to go through with the pregnancy or not.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Dr. Owens had said. “But you really need to make a decision as soon as possible. I can refer you to a clinic or an obstetrician, depending on what you want.”

What Steve wants is to not have to make this decision, but the baby has already been wished into existence, and no amount of counter wishing is going to make this pregnancy go away.

“We should make a list,” Dustin suggests on day two. “You know, kinda like a pros and cons thing. Maybe it will help.”

It does help. Steve makes rows upon rows of cons—he’s too young, he doesn’t know anything about babies, it’s a lot of responsibility, babies cry, babies take up a lot of time, he’s not ready to be a parent, babies are expensive—and not a single pro except for one in the privacy of his own mind.

 _I won’t be alone anymore_.  

On day four, Steve decides to keep the baby.

His mother is oddly delighted when he tells her— _I’ll ship you some baby clothes, darling, the best in fashion, of course._

His dad doesn’t much care either way, which Steve expected. They don’t come home.

Steve is unsurprised.

“Who needs them anyway?” Dustin says fiercely when he finds out. “You have me, I’ll help, and I’m going to be the best uncle _ever_.”

Steve laughs until he cries and lets Dustin pet his hair as he sobs into his shoulder while Dustin whispers, “You’ll be all right. Everything is going to be all right.”

Astonishingly, Steve believes him.

**

By the time he graduates—with a perfectly respectable grade average, thank you very much—Steve is already halfway through his second trimester, has lost any and all muscle definition basketball ever managed to put on his wiry body, and is actually looking a little pudgy.

Okay, so he’s more than a little pudgy. But he’s _not fat, Lucas. You’re fat!_

Steve needs better friends. Preferably older ones.

“I still can’t believe you’re having a baby,” Nancy says with no small amount of awe at his graduation dinner that night.

It’s a small affair at the Byers’ house, because that is Steve’s life now, hanging out with kids five years his junior, his ex-girlfriend, and his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend. Even Joyce and Hopper are there, along with El who is so taken by the idea of Steve having a baby she _will not stop touching his belly_.

It would be exasperating if her utter delight and open curiosity wasn’t so endearing.

Steve hates that he loves it all so much.

“You’ll be a good parent,” Joyce says, nodding her head decisively, and Joyce is possibly the best mom in the whole of the universe, Steve thinks, so he takes this for the compliment it is even if he’s not entirely sure she’s right.

He still knows next to nothing about babies; Steve mostly just feels vastly underqualified.

“No, no, I agree, absolutely,” Nancy rushes to say. “Just look at how he is with Dustin. It’s just, uh, so _weird_.” She offers Steve a grimace of a smile, that crooked, hesitant one she does when she’s being painfully earnest but doesn’t want to upset anyone.

Steve sighs. He used to love that about her. Still does, a little bit.

“Are you any closer to finding out who is responsible for the wish?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Only the carrying parent makes it on the wishbaby register, apparently. You have to add the other parent manually. I have no idea who it is.” It’s been frustrating, wondering who out there could feel so strongly about Steve that they wished a baby into existence. Someone obviously very strong-willed, his OB/GYN had speculated during his last checkup. Someone desperate for family.

Steve has been thinking the other parent must have been one of his classmates, someone who knows him well. He’d even thought it was Nancy for one wild, panicked moment—but it isn’t Nancy, and Steve doesn’t know which of his high school friends fit the description his doctor has painted for him.

No one, really.

“I think it’s cool you’re having a baby,” Max says, which of course means Lucas rushes to add his own assurances of how awesome babies are. “Even Billy thinks so,” she goes on. “He punched Tommy H. and called Carol a bitch when they said you were getting fat.” Max looks more delighted by this than is probably healthy.

Steve is relieved to notice that Dustin eyes her a little warily even if Lucas’ heart eyes grows impossibly bigger, the lovestruck fool.

“Wait, really?” Jonathan asks.

Max nods, her red locks bouncing. “Billy is an ass, but he’s weirdly protective of babies and pregnant people. It’s his one saving grace,” she says with the air of one quoting someone verbatim. Probably her mother or her asshole of a stepdad.

Steve suppresses a wince. He can’t help but feel a little bad for Billy; because of Max, Steve probably knows more about Billy’s homelife than Billy would ever care to know or like, and if Steve was being told he was worthless and all manners of unsavoury things day in and day out, or pushed around by his own father, he might be having anger issues as well.

Even so, no one can deny that Billy has at least made a token effort to change after he attempted to cave Steve’s face in with his bare fists and Max had ended up drugging him.

He’d even apologised, to Steve _and_ Lucas, and kept his distance afterwards.

Steve can count on one hand the number of times he’s had a full conversation with Billy in the months since El closed the gate to the Upside Down, and three of those times happened after the rest of Hawkins learned about Steve’s pregnancy.

Once, it’d been to offer Steve a quiet, curt, “Congratulations.”

“Well,” Nancy says primly. “Carol _is_ a bitch, so he’s not wrong there. And Tommy was due to get suckerpunched sooner or later.”

“Nancy!” Joyce and Jonathan protest, but even Hopper looks as if he secretly agrees.

Steve holds back a smile. It’s a good night.

**

This is how the news of Steve’s pregnancy broke:

Steve picked Dustin up from the arcade for their Thursday night evening out, and Dustin, whose default setting is _loud_ , said, “Hey, Steve! Can you still eat spicy food even though you’re pregnant? There’s this new Indian restaurant that just opened downtown. An _Indian_ restaurant! In Hawkins!” and somewhere behind them, someone made a choking noise.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Steve heard, and he closed his eyes wearily because he _knew_ that voice. “You’re _pregnant_?” Carol said gleefully, and sure enough, when Steve turned to look, Tommy and Carol were grinning nastily, standing next to Billy Hargrove’s car.

 _Of course_ , Steve had thought. Of course Billy would pick up Max the same time Steve was picking up Dustin.

Tommy laughed cruelly. “I can’t believe this. King Steve is up the duff. Oh, this is priceless. Wait till everyone else finds out.”

Which of course was the precise moment Billy walked out of the arcade with a sulking Max behind him. He stared at Steve for a long, uncomfortable moment, his eyes dipping to Steve’s still flat stomach. For once, his face was devoid of his usual deranged grin. He looked oddly solemn.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Billy said finally, turning away from Steve with no comment and no _king Steve_ or _princess_. He expertly ignored Carol as she whined, “But _Billy_ —” and ushered Max into the front seat, barely waiting for Tommy and Carol to get into the back of the car before he was driving away, tires screeching.

Steve stared after them.

The next day at school, everybody knew.

**

In July, Steve’s stomach pops. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway. He goes from looking mildly overweight to being very clearly, visibly pregnant.

No denying it now.

Not that he was, it’s just. It’s more real, suddenly. He has to start wearing maternity clothes and everything. He finally buys a book on _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ and _Baby’s First Year._ It’s…illuminating.

If Steve wasn’t terrified before, he is now.

With July follows a heat wave, and suddenly every day is unbearable. Steve is always hot, no matter what he does, and even the pool is losing its charm the bigger he gets.

He only slips down the ladder once before deciding he probably shouldn’t be using the pool on his own anymore. It ended up being fine, both Steve and the baby unhurt, but it freaked him out enough to stay away from the pool for a few days, his heart racing at the thought of how badly it could have ended.

As it turns out, Steve is kind of protective of his baby now. He supposes it was bound to happen. They are sharing a body, after all.

“Please don’t say it like that,” Dustin says. “It sounds like your body has been taken over by an alien and you’re just the host now.”

“Isn’t that kind of what is happening?” Steve asks innocently, and then can’t help but laugh at Dustin’s horrified look.

As July edges into August, the heat waves lingers, and Steve is only getting bigger as he enters his third and final trimester. Sleeping is becoming a problem. He tosses and turns as best as he can with the size of his stomach, but no matter how exhausted and tired he feels, he’s still stubbornly awake.

Steve sighs, defeated, and drags his body out of bed. He’s got a bad case of heartburn anyway, and could do with some crushed ice, which is the only thing that has proven to be even somewhat effective as a treatment. He shuffles his way down the stairs carefully and waddles into the kitchen.

If he cries when he opens the freezer only to find that he’s out of crushed ice, no one is around to see it anyway.

**

Hawkins isn’t exactly a big town, but even Hawkins has a couple of 24/7 convenience stores and Steve needs his crushed ice, okay? He _needs_ it.

Driving is becoming something of a chore now too, but Steve will suffer the indignity of having to climb-shuffle-fall into the driver’s seat and then the struggle of getting back up again if it means he can soothe his heartburn. Steve parks in the lot outside the store and turns off the ignition before opening the door.

“Okay, Steve,” he tells himself. “You can do this, you can get out of the car. It’s fine, you’re not that fat yet.” He is that fat, but Steve knows to psych himself up for the challenge that is manoeuvring his stomach and thighs from underneath the wheel.

Five minutes later, Steve has pushed the seat back as far as it will go, and is struggling to find the leverage he needs to actually get out of the car. He’s fighting against tears and his own rising stress levels when he hears, “What the hell are you doing, Harrington?”

Steve looks up, blinking the tears out of his eyes as he takes in Billy Hargrove and his stupid mullet because Steve’s luck has always been shit and this is his life: crying in a parking lot outside of a 24/7 convenience store because he is too pregnant to get out of his car, and his high school rival standing witness to the mess Steve’s hormones have turned him into.

“I can’t get out of the car,” Steve blurts out. “And I have heartburn and I need crushed ice, but I can’t get out of the car and—” Horrifyingly, Steve feels himself very close to a meltdown of epic proportions.

Billy stares at him. “Fuck. Okay, calm down, will you, princess? I’ll go get your damn crushed ice. Just stay here.”

He’s gone before Steve can even think to put up a token protest, even though he would definitely have let Billy go eventually; Steve really does want that ice.

“Here,” Billy says a few minutes later. He’s got a bag of crushed ice in one hand and offering Steve a cup of ice in the other. He’s even thought to include a spoon. Steve feels his tears well up again. “Shut up,” Billy barks at him when Steve opens his mouth. “You said you were suffering from heartburn, right? That shit can’t be good. Just take your damn ice.”

Steve obediently takes the proffered cup and crunches down happily on the cold ice as Billy stands guard to make sure he goes through the whole cup. It’s a strange few minutes of silence, broken only by Steve’s teeth cutting through the ice.

“Are you okay to get home?” Billy asks when he’s done. Steve nods but Billy looks unconvinced. “Will you even be able to get out of your car?” he asks, and the truth is Steve probably won’t, not without a great deal of effort and another bout of crying, but he’s not about to tell Billy that, so he nods again and starts to reach for the bag of ice.

“Yes. Thanks for your help. How much do I owe you?”

Billy eyes him critically. He doesn’t let go of the bag.

“Come on, Hargrove,” Steve says. “It’s getting late. What do I owe you?” He can feel himself flagging quick after all the excitement and now that he’s gotten his hand on some crushed ice. Steve thinks he’d fall asleep pretty easy now if he could just make it back to his house. Even the baby is quiet, probably exhausted from its own nocturnal activities, because of course Steve has ended up with a baby that won’t move for anything during the day but wrecks havoc on his bladder and ribs once night comes around.

Billy sighs, aggravated, and runs his free hand through his hair roughly. “Fuck,” he says again, more to himself than anything else, Steve thinks.

Steve watches, surprised, as Billy throws open the door to the backseat and throws in the bag of ice before coming back to where Steve is and offering out his hand. Steve stares at it uncomprehendingly.

“Well don’t just sit there, princess. I’ll drive you home. We just gotta move you to the passenger seat.”

“But what about your car?” Steve asks instead of the _why_ that is crawling up his throat. He’s tired and he really could use some help getting out of the car, which is what Billy is implying by offering to drive him home. Or so Steve thinks.

Billy shrugs and doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “I’ll come back for it later. It’s fine. Not like anyone in fucking Hawkins is gonna steal it.”

Steve blinks up at him, and when Billy finally deigns to meet his eyes, his face is carefully blank. It could be a prank, Steve knows, but somehow he doesn’t think so.

 _He’s weirdly protective of babies and pregnant people,_ Max had said.

“Okay,” Steve says, and takes Billy’s hand.

**

Steve isn’t sure what possesses him to invite Billy inside.

A combination of things, probably. The sleep deprivation, the heartburn that is acting up again, and his baby, awake and punching at Steve’s ribs as if it is a national sport. A feisty little thing, isn’t it, with no regard for their parent.

Steve loves him or her a lot, but he does wish they’d leave his ribs in peace.

“You’re alone,” Billy says when Steve shows him inside the house, and it’s not a question, but Billy sounds surprised all the same.

And Steve doesn’t know why he tries to kid himself. This is the real reason he invited Billy in: the gut-wrenching loneliness that is never more pronounced during the nights when it’s just Steve and his thoughts and the god-awful fear that he won’t be able to do this on his own.

He’s no Joyce Byers. Steve doesn’t know how he’s ever going to make it as a single parent.

He misses having someone around. Misses someone he can talk to, share his fears with and his thoughts and hopes for the future and his child’s future. He misses someone to hold when he needs it. Someone who can say, “It’s going to be okay,” and then make it so, because they’d said so and Steve doesn’t have to worry so much.

It can’t be Dustin, as much as he loves the boy. He’s only fourteen, and Steve is the responsible party in that relationship. Steve is the one to wipe away Dustin’s tears and cheer him up when he’s down.

They’re brothers in all but blood.

What Steve needs is a significant other. A partner who loves him, really truly loves him. Someone to help him raise his child. Most of all he just needs someone to be there.

Weird how that has turned out to be Billy Hargrove at 3:30 am on a humid August night.

Steve isn’t quite sure what that says about the state of his life. Nothing good, probably.

“Hey, princess. You fall asleep on your feet, or what?”

Steve blinks, startled to see Billy standing right in front of him suddenly. He looks…concerned? Does Billy Hargrove do concern? “I, uh, no. I mean yes,” Steve stuttes. “I’m alone. My parents don’t really spend a lot of time in Hawkins. Mostly it’s just me.” He lifts his shoulders into a careless shrug, turning his gaze to the side of Billy’s left ear so Billy won’t see how upset Steve is by that—by the parents who’s never cared enough to be there when he needs them.

Billy makes a questioning noise, but he doesn’t comment. He hefts the bag of ice in his hands and says, “Where do you want this?”

“Kitchen,” Steve says, grateful for the change of subject. “In here.” He guides the way, feeling more than a little bemused as he lets Billy usher him to a chair and sits down to watch as Billy roots through the cabinets for a glass and pulls at drawers in search of a spoon before putting another glass of crushed ice on the table before him. “Thank you,” Steve says quietly, because the ice really does work for his heartburn and it’s a sweet gesture.

It’s unsettling. Steve has never known Billy to be sweet about _anything_.

“You’re welcome,” Billy says, all nonchalance, but Steve isn’t fooled.

He can see the twin spots of red on Billy’s cheeks and has to duck his head to hide a grin. It’s unexpectedly charming.

“Whatever,” Billy mutters, scowling when he catches Steve smiling, and goes to put the bag of ice in the freezer. “Do you need any more help tonight?” he asks when Steve has finished his glass of ice. He is fidgeting in the seat he’s taken across from Steve, but he’s looking at him expectantly, as if he’s perfectly ready to assist with whatever Steve might need him for.

Steve isn’t entirely sure how he is meant to deal with that. He shakes his head carefully. “No, I’m okay, I think. You’re free to go. I’m sure your parents—your dad—I mean, I’m sure they’re wondering where you are. Thanks for the help, though. Really.”

Billy eyes him for a long moment. He’s no longer fidgeting. “They’re not,” he says finally. “Wondering where I am,” he explains at Steve’s confused glance. “I moved out the second we graduated. Got an apartment close to work. I haven’t been back since.”

“Not even to see Max?” Steve blurts out, because it hurts him that Billy can’t see how awesome she is, how desperately she wants for Billy to just give her some attention. He’s her older brother, no matter how much Billy will deny that, and that means something to her. But Billy is different, Steve knows that, knows about the crap he’s had to deal with his dad, so when Billy’s face goes carefully shuttered, Steve hurriedly changes the subject. “Old man Gary’s garage, huh? That’s where you work, right? Part time?”

Billy’s brows go up, obviously surprised by Steve’s knowledge. “Full time now,” he corrects, and doesn’t ask how Steve had known that.

It’s pretty obvious he knows because of Max.

Steve hums. “You must be a very good mechanic. I heard Chief Hopper had a couple of the police cars in for service. Says they haven’t run so well since they got them. He was very impressed.”

“How do you know it was me?”

Steve looks at him pointedly. “Well, we both know it wasn’t old man Gary, and Justin hates cops so he either wouldn’t have done it at all or he’d do a shit job.” He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on his bulging stomach. “That leaves you. Process of elimination.”

“That leaves me,” Billy agrees, and something about the way he’s looking at Steve makes Steve’s chest go a little tight, his breath stuttering on his next exhale.

Steve has no idea what’s going on here, only that something is changing. Something monumental.

“I’m gonna split then, if you’re sure you don’t need any more help. Go to bed, okay, princess? And don’t go for any more late night drives by yourself. I might not be there to help out next time.”

He takes off before Steve can yell at him for ordering him around.

 _Ass_.   

**

Billy never does tell Steve what he owes him for the ice.

**


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Steve wakes up feeling rested. It’s such a rare feeling for him these days, and he takes a moment, just lounging in bed, stroking his hands over his stomach and humming _Heaven_ under his breath to calm his little one because it’s been on the radio all summer and Steve can’t get it out of his head.

Plus the baby really seems to like it. Steve smiles at the thought; his kid has got good taste in music. Bryan Adams is awesome.

The baby has mostly been quiet since Steve went to sleep last night, but there is some movement now, as if the baby had been sleeping too and is grumbling about Steve moving around and waking it.

Steve has a feeling his kid is going to be something of a high-maintenance child, but he can’t bring himself to care; Steve is still going to spoil him or her rotten—he’s going to shower them with love and affection, and his baby is never, not _ever_ , going to wonder if he or she was a mistake or if Steve really loves them the way he has sometimes wondered about his own mom and dad.

Steve is going to be there for his kid, in the same way he’d thought parents couldn’t be until he met Joyce Byers and Chief Hopper—until he saw the things Joyce does for her kids and what Hopper does for El.

Once the baby calms, it seems to have settled on a position that keeps pressing on his bladder, and Steve sighs, rolling out of bed in that awkward shuffle he’s resigned himself to. He sets about his day, moving through his morning ablutions on auto pilot but taking care to get his hair right _just so_ because his hair is his pride and joy and Steve isn’t even embarrassed about it.

It’s magnificent and he knows it.

He’s in the kitchen making breakfast when his heartburn acts up again and he goes to get a glass of crushed ice, which, inevitably, leads him to think about Billy.

Last night was…odd. Very odd. Steve has no idea what to do with a Billy Hargrove that isn’t smirking, violent, or generally being an asshole. Or at his very worst, a combination of all three.

The Billy last night had been none of those things.

Well, in the interest of fairness, he’d still been a bit of an asshole, but a concerned one if that was even possible.

Steve supposes it must be, seeing as Billy had managed to pull it off.

He bites his bottom lip, worrying the flesh between his teeth as he stares at the crushed ice in his glass. He thinks about Billy telling him he’s got his own apartment now and wonders why Steve hadn’t known that already.

Usually, Max is pretty good at keeping her friends updated about Billy’s life, because as much as she hates it, he’s her stepbrother and she loves him—reluctantly, but fiercely—and she’s proud of him, Steve knows. Proud of the way he’s been slowly changing to better himself and keep from becoming his own father. She’s proud of the way he’s turned his love of cars into a profession—he’s even become someone old man Gary has started to rely on, which Steve only knows because Gary’s other employee, Justin, is a bitter jerk who will complain about this to anyone he comes across, willing audience or not— _that boy is trouble, Steve, you mark my words. He’s trying to edge me out. Gary’s about to retire and I was the only logical choice to take over but now that boy has Gary thinking—_

Steve is happy Billy seems to be doing so well. Working at the garage has done him a world of good, and Steve can only imagine the relief it must have been for Billy once he moved out from underneath his father’s forceful thumb.

But.

He’s alone now, isn’t he? Like Steve.

Does Billy even know how to cook or is he eating takeout everyday? Does he know to separate his whites from his colours and to change his sheets at least once every two weeks?

He probably does, Steve thinks, because if nothing else, Steve knows Billy to be very self-sufficient, but he can’t help but worry anyway, and—

And.

Billy had helped him, unprompted, without question, and without expecting anything in return.

He’d seen Steve in a truly humiliating situation, tears and snot and all, and hadn’t even said so much as a word about it. Just gotten Steve’s bag of ice and carefully, gently—much more gentle than Steve had ever thought Billy had it in him—helped him up from the driver’s seat and around the car into the passenger one.

He hadn’t even sped over the speed limit on their way home, not even once, and probably all of Hawkins know that Billy Hargrove likes his speed and fast cars by now.  

Steve hadn’t even thanked him properly, not really.

Well.

Steve is having none of that, and Billy Hargrove will just have to deal.

**

Steve decides to make Billy a thank-you dinner; chicken pot pie turnovers with creamy mashed potatoes.

The mashed potatoes are, technically, not part of the recipe—salad is, which Steve will also make as a healthier option—but Steve has no control of his cravings, and besides, everybody loves mashed potatoes. Especially _Steve’s_ mashed potatoes, because he makes them with extra butter and all cream instead of split with whole milk, a touch of celery root, and a little cream cheese for good measure. It’s one of Steve’s favourite recipes along with the chicken pot pie turnovers, and besides, he already has all the ingredients he’ll need.

With a plan in mind, Steve turns on the oven to preheat and starts pulling out everything he’ll need. His movements are well-practiced as he starts peeling potatoes and carrots before dicing up the rest of his vegetables. He hardly consults his recipe book and barely uses any of the measurement cups, confident in his ability to add the ingredients by memory and intuition alone.  

He’s got a knack for it, and people are always surprised to find that Steve is a good cook. A very good cook, actually.

Nancy had been sceptical the first time he cooked for her, he remembers. She’d teased him playfully, laughing at the idea of Hawkins High’s resident king—a teenage boy—knowing his way around a kitchen. Steve had only smiled at her and whipped up pancakes from scratch, pleased when Nancy had taken a bite and declared her undying love for him there and then.

After they broke up, the memory of that day used to make Steve sad and bitter, angry that Nancy had ever claimed to love him when she clearly hadn’t—at least not the way Steve had needed her to, the way he loved her, like she now loves Jonathan.

The way lovers do.

Now, the memory still makes him a little sad, but he loves cooking, and he loves Nancy as the friend she has become to him, and he refuses to let his own bitterness taint either of those.

He still cooks for her—and Jonathan when she drags him along. More often now that Jonathan has gotten over his initial guilt at having ‘stolen’ Nancy from him. Nevermind that she was never a thing to be stolen in the first place.

Steve knows that now. It took him some time, but he got there eventually; he’s finally in a place where he can look at Nancy and not feel the heart wrenching ache at the loss of her that he’d felt in the beginning.

It’s a good place; Steve likes it. Likes that he can love Nancy and be friends with her without being _in_ love with her. Personal growth, Dustin calls it.

Besides. Steve and Jonathan are kind of friends on their own merit now too.

Plus with him having a baby, Jonathan thinks Steve needs extra looking after, and sometimes he stops by even without Nancy, usually with a lame excuse to disguise the fact that he’s worried about Steve being pregnant and on his own—which Steve knows because Will has no regard for his older brother and has no problem ratting him out to Steve.

(Steve has those kids trained well. All the best town gossip comes from the Party.)

Dustin, at least, is nothing but delighted any time Steve cooks for him, trusting from the beginning that whatever Steve puts down in front of him will alway be delicious—and peanut free because Dustin is mildly allergic but has a hard time remembering this; the boy _loves_ peanuts.

Still, both Dustin and Nancy had been pleasantly surprised the first time they bit into Steve’s food, and Jonathan too, and the rest of the kids once Dustin spilled the beans and they all discovered Steve was a reliable source of delicious, homemade meals.

Steve only ever smiles when they thank him for a meal and tell him how good it is, because what they don’t know—what he never says—is that Steve learnt to cook for himself early, around the time he decided he was too old for the live-in nannies his parents employed when they were away on yet another extended trip. Once he turned fourteen, Steve had begged them to be left to his own devices, insisting that he could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much, and if his mom and dad were ever home to see him for themselves they would already know this.

Steve suspects a rare bout of guilt is the only reason his parents had caved to his request, but he is thankful all the same.

Being on his own so much of the time meant he had to learn how to do laundry, pay the bills, and buy groceries for food—he was never short on money, still isn’t, his parents diligent about this one task if nothing else.

Living alone also meant that if he wanted to eat something more substantial than sandwiches, he had to learn how the hell to work the kitchen appliances. Which led to him learning how to read a recipe and trying out different cooking techniques—and discovering which flavours went well together and which _didn’t_.

(Steve actively tries not to think about the smoked octopus experiment of ‘82.)

A timer pings, and Steve blinks, startled. Time always passes quickly when he cooks. He gets lost in the motion of it, and it feel as if there's no time at all before he is in the middle of gathering all the food into Tupperware containers for easy travel; it's not before he's closing the lid over the salad that it occurs to him that he doesn’t have Billy’s address.

 _Shit._ He's going to have to stop by Max's house first.

**

Max’s reaction to Steve asking for Billy’s address goes a little something like this:

“ _Why_?” she demands, narrowing her eyes at Steve as if Steve at seven and a half months pregnant and looking like a beached whale could in any way be perceived as a threat against Billy.

Steve would be insulted if he didn’t think it adorable how protective she is of her older brother. He wonders if Billy even realises how strongly Max feels about him.

“He cooked him dinner?” Dustin answers for him, but there is enough of a lilt to his words to make it a question. He’d been mostly surprised when Steve had called him to help with the Tupperware boxes—and assisting Steve in and out of the car—and he’d asked a number of _why-what-how_ questions, but never once had he said no or tried to talk Steve out of it, no matter how confused he was by the idea of Steve cooking Billy Hargrove dinner.

Steve honestly loves him so much.

Max regards them for a long moment, and Steve is starting to realise that she may not even know the address herself—she hadn’t even told anyone that Billy had moved out, after all—but then she straightens her shoulders, juts her jaw out stubbornly, and says, “I’ll tell you, but I’m coming with.”

She throws a glance over her shoulder at the house behind her, to where they can see her mom and stepdad through the window. When she looks back at Dustin and Steve, there is a dark scowl on her face and a determined glint in her eyes.

Steve thinks better of commenting on it. He nods his head. “Sure. The more the merrier, right?”

Dustin eyes them doubtfully, but he dutifully helps Steve back into the driver’s seat and lets Max take the passenger seat so she can guide the way.

“Right then,” Steve says brightly, as if his palms aren’t sweating and he hasn’t started to wonder if this is such a good idea after all. “Where to?”

**

 _Got an apartment close to work_ , is what Billy had told Steve, and he’d been incredibly generous with his brief description because by _close_ Billy had actually meant miles away on the other side of town, and by _apartment_ he’d meant a barely habitable hovel.

 _Steve_ lives closer to Gary’s Garage than what Billy does.

“People actually live here?” Dustin asks incredulously as they climb up the stairs to Billy’s unit. None of them touch the handrail, not even Steve, who lets Max hold on to him as he slowly climbs the steps because even with the extra pounds and the shift in his centre of gravity that still causes him some unbalance sometimes, Steve wouldn’t touch that handrail even if someone paid him. He can’t even identity all the grime and stains.

Max nods stoically. “It’s cheap, and even though Billy can afford a better place, he—” She cuts herself off, glancing at them quickly before looking away. “Billy has a juvenile record,” she says quietly, guiltily. “This was one of the few places that would let him rent.”

 _A juvenile record_ , Steve thinks, and hates that he's not surprised. He has to bite his lip not to say anything about it.

“But couldn’t your stepdad have vouched for him or something?” Dustin blurts out.

Max nods, steely eyed. “He could have,” she says.

 _He refused_ , is what she means.

Steve worries his lip between his teeth, feeling heartsore and angry that the powers that be had ever seen fit to give Neil Hargrove a child.

He tightens his grip on Max’s arm and lifts his free hand to stroke over his stomach in an effort to calm his own nerves. _I promise_ , he swears silently to the child inside. _I promise never to lay a hand on you in anger._

His child is never going to know what it means to be afraid of their own parent. They’re never going to question Steve’s devotion to them.

“This is it,” Max tells them and stops in front of a door with the number _21_. She shifts on her feet, looking a little nervous now that they’ve made it to Billy’s place, as if she’s unsure about how Billy might react to seeing them.

Steve gets the feeling.

“We should knock, right?” Dustin says, looking between Max and Steve uncertainly. He shifts his grip on the Tupperware containers. “We should definitely knock. That’s generally what people do when they visit someone. Knock. On the door. To let them know there’s someone there and—”

The door tears open, and Billy, shirtless and hair a total mess, glares at them murderously. “Who the fuck—” he starts before cutting off abruptly. His eyes go wide as he takes in the three of them, mouth dropping open in surprise. “What?” he says, seemingly at a loss.

“I made you dinner,” Steve blurts out, and this isn’t going at all the way he’d thought it would, but they’re here and Billy is looking at them as if he’s never seen any of them before. He also looks a little skinnier than Steve remembers from the last time he saw Billy without a shirt, although he is as muscled as ever.

Steve is only a little jealous—and also, maybe, possibly, a teeny tiny bit appreciative.

Mostly Steve mourns the loss of his own muscle definition. That’s what he tells himself anyway.

But muscles or no, Billy is looking a tad too thin and, “Dinner,” Steve repeats, determined now. “For you. As a thank you for last night.”

Both Max and Dustin swivel to stare at him at that, because that had sounded _suggestive_ dammit, and Steve hasn’t told them exactly _why_ Steve was cooking Billy dinner, only that it was as a thank you.

The rest of it he’d kept to himself. It feels…private. Something between Steve and Billy only.

“Uh,” Dustin says when no one says anything for a few, long seconds, and, “Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max demands, glaring at Billy challengingly, because that is how the two of them communicate: through clipped tones and curt words to hide what they really feel.

Billy tugs at his hair in frustration. “I’m not alone,” he grits out.

“Oh,” Steve says. “ _Oh_.” He flushes awkwardly at the thought of Billy having… _company_ , and tells himself it's only because Steve hasn’t had sex with anyone since before he got pregnant and because during his first and second trimester, Steve had gone through a period of time where pretty much everything turned him on.

 _Everything_.

He still feels the remnants of his overactive libido, to be honest, and if nothing else, Billy Hargrove is an excellent specimen of man.

Steve is feeling a little hot all of a sudden, even if the kids are blissfully oblivious and are more curious than anything by Billy’s company. They try to peer around Billy and into the apartment behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve says. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. We’ll just leave the food and you can bring me back the Tupperware whenever. Unless you don’t want the food. In which case we’ll just bring it. Sorry. Do you want the food?” Steve asks just as Max puffs her cheeks out and honest to god stomps her foot.

“No way! I haven’t seen Billy in _weeks_. We can’t just leave.”

Steve isn’t sure who is more surprised by her outburst, Billy or Max herself. She doesn’t back down though, keeping her chin up defiantly and holding Billy’s gaze when he considers her carefully.

Steve only has some idea as to the history of their relationship; he knows it’s mostly been turbulent, too much resentment and too much anger keeping them from communicating in any way that could be considered healthy.

But something changed between them after the night at the Byers’. Billy started spending more time with Max, more patient and more tolerant of her friends and hobbies. And Max…Max worships Billy in her own way. She’d never admit that aloud, but Steve rarely sees Max without hearing about Billy in some capacity or another.

Sometimes she’ll mention her mother; she never talks about her stepdad.

Mostly she talks about Billy.

She’s missed him, Steve thinks, and he wonders if she hasn’t seen him in so long because she hasn’t been allowed to or if Billy himself has kept her away from his apartment.

Probably a combination of the two, Steve suspects. He certainly wouldn’t let Dustin come see him if Steve had lived in a place like this.

“Max—” Billy starts, but Max is already shaking her head.

“You promised I could come visit,” she says. “When you moved out, you promised, and I haven’t even been even once. It’s not fair.”

“Christ,” Billy mutters. He runs his hand through his hair, closes his eyes tiredly and lets his shoulders sag. “Fine. We can hang out. But not here,” he says firmly, and when Max opens her mouth to protest, Billy cuts her off. “No. I’m not letting you stay here.”

Steve sees him looking at something over Steve’s shoulder, and he shivers, feeling the prickling weight of someone’s stare at the back of his neck. It’s all Steve can do to keep from spinning around to find the source of the lecherous gaze.

The kids don’t seem to notice, but Steve sees the way Billy picks up on how Steve has gone tense, sees the way Billy's jaw clenches; Billy takes an aborted step towards Max and Steve before seeming to catch himself.

Steve finds himself wanting to stroke his hand over the tense muscle of Billy's jaw, to soothe the stress from his face, if only to distract himself from the presence Steve can still feel behind him.

“Go back to the car,” Billy tells them, and it's not a suggestion. “Go quickly and quietly. Lock the doors. I’ll be right there.”

“Billy?” Max says uncertainly, and it’s only now that she and Dustin seem to notice the tension around them and the open doors of the other units, men and women eyeing them curiously—hungrily.

A drug den, Steve thinks faintly. Billy lives in the middle of a goddamn drug den.

Dustin shifts a little closer to Steve’s side.

“Come on, Max,” Steve says quietly. “Let’s do as your brother says, okay? I’m sure he won’t be long.”

Billy glances at him quick before looking back at Max. “I’ll be right there,” he agrees, and then disappears back inside his apartment, closing the door firmly behind him.

Steve stares at the closed door.

This had not gone according to plan _at all_.

**

There’s total silence in the car on the drive back to Steve’s place, and once they park in the driveway, Max and Dustin practically tear out of the car with an excuse about stepping inside to set the table and heat the food.

Steve sighs, but he doesn’t blame them. Even the kids can't have escaped noticing the brewing tension between Steve and Billy or the way Billy has been clutching the wheel, lips pressed tight and limbs stiff.

Steve hadn’t even argued when Billy had showed up in the parking lot and demanded the keys, claiming he was the better driver; Steve had handed the keys over without a word and let Billy help him into the passenger seat—a concession, or an acknowledgment, rather, of the blunder Steve had made by showing up at Billy’s place unannounced, and with his little sister in tow.

None of them asked what happened to Billy's company.

“You don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

Billy narrows his eyes into a glare and glowers over at Steve angrily. “I mean it, Harrington. What you did today was dangerous. That place isn’t safe. There is a reason I haven’t let Max visit.”

“I won’t,” Steve says again, quiet and shamed. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Billy takes in a deep breath. He finally relaxes his grip on the wheel and leans back in his seat. “You’re something else, you know that, princess? Fuck. What the hell were you even thinking, making me dinner?”

Steve fidgets in his seat, embarrassed at how this whole situation has gotten so away from him. He just wanted to repay Billy for his kindness, to do something decent for him; Steve doesn’t think Billy has a lot of decency in his life. “I just wanted to thank you for last night. You were kind to me when you didn’t need to be, and everybody loves food. I’m a good cook,” he says defensively.

Billy blinks at him. “You’re a good—? For fuck’s sake!” He storms out of the car and slams the door shut, stalking around the hood to the passenger seat even as Steve winces at the harsh treatment of his precious car.

“Unbelievable,” Billy keeps muttering under his breath, along with, “Fucking driving me insane,” and “So fucking stupid.”

Steve isn’t entirely sure which of them he’s talking about, Steve or Billy himself, but Billy is impossibly gentle as he helps Steve out of the car, such a contrast to his words, so Steve leaves him to it and makes sure to duck his head so Billy won’t see his grin.

Possibly, Steve hasn't botched this up as much as he'd feared.

**

Billy loves the food. Steve is more than a little smug.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for the lovely comments! I read all of them, and it's a huge motivator to continue this work <3 Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

The food disappears quickly, because it’s delicious and Steve really is that good of a cook.

Billy shovels his dinner into his mouth as if he’s been starving for days, clutching at his plate protectively when Steve tells him he doesn’t have to eat everything if there is something he doesn’t like.

“Shut up,” Billy barks at him. “It’s amazing,” he adds, almost angrily, and helps himself to more of the mashed potatoes.

Even Dustin, who usually eats at Steve’s several times a week, goes about cheerfully decimating his salad when there is no more chicken pot pie turnovers to be had—all the while protesting what he calls bunny food and claiming he’s only eating it because he’s a growing boy and he’s always hungry.  

Dustin is a lying liar who lies. Steve knows for a fact that Mrs. Henderson always packs carrots with his lunch and that Dustin snacks on that shit as if it were crack cocaine. He _loves_ salad; he just thinks it’s embarrassing.

“We should do this again,” Max says determinedly when Billy finally puts down his cutlery and starts giving his watch pointed looks. She’s come up with a number of very obvious excuses not to leave throughout their meal, and she keeps sending Billy what Steve is sure she thinks is a series of subtle glances. She is pushing her food around her plate now, even though she’d practically inhaled her first and second serving. Or possibly _because_ she practically inhaled her first and second serving.

Steve isn’t entirely sure she went for thirds because his food really is that good or because she’s trying to stall.

Probably a toss up of the two, he decides. At least she’s stopped excusing herself to use the restroom every few minutes in an attempt to drag out dinner even further.

Billy, who’s been strangely quiet since they sat down to eat, sighs and pushes back his chair. “Do you mind if I borrow your car to drop Max off? I’ll stop by Henderson’s place, too. Save you the trip.” He nods at Dustin. “I’ll bring the car back after.”

He doesn’t respond to Max’s suggestion.

“Sure,” Steve says, forcing as much cheer into that single word as he can while Max shoots him a betrayed look.

Billy nods, once. “Thanks. And thanks for the food. Come on, Max, it’s getting late.”

“It’s not even seven,” Max says mulishly. “I don’t need to be home until nine.”

Billy sighs again and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. He seems to do that a lot. Weird how Steve never really noticed it before.

“You need to be ready for bed by nine,” Billy counters with a pointed look.

Max opens her mouth to protest, but before she can speak, Dustin exclaims, “Dessert!”

It’s more of a shout than anything, really, and he flushes when they all turn to stare at him. He clears his throat, and Steve feels unbearably fond of this silly boy who so very desperately wants to help his friends, because as Dustin continues speaking it becomes clear that he’s trying to come up with an excuse that will let Max stay with Billy a little longer.

“Dessert,” Dustin says again, more firmly this time. “You can’t leave without dessert. That’s just wrong.”

Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t make any,” he says gently. He would have, if he’d known this was how it would all turn out.

Max sinks into her seat, sullen and defeated.

Dustin glances at her helplessly. _Sorry_ , he mouths at her, and Steve feels his heart clench a little at the sight of it.

“Come on, Max,” Billy says again. He shifts on his feet, impatient now, and as Max slowly rises from her chair, Steve bites his lip and makes a split-second decision.

“I could make some, though. If you guys would like something sweet. I could whip up some brownies; it won’t even take that long.”

Billy stares at him, but Dustin gives him a surreptitious two thumbs up—having assisted Steve in the kitchen before, he’ll know that anything involving the oven is going to take a minimum of twenty minutes. At least. Usually longer.

“I would _love_ some brownies,” Max declares, glancing at Billy hopefully and dropping back down into her chair with an air of triumph.

Steve has to hold back a smile.

“For fuck’s sake,” Billy mutters under his breath, exasperated. He glares at all of them, obviously aggravated, but caves reasonably quickly in the face of Max’s smug grin and wide, eager eyes. “Fine. We can stay for brownies, but then we’re leaving. No arguments.”

“No arguments. Promise!” Max agrees brightly, and turns to high five Dustin in celebration, not even playing at subtle.

Steve shakes his head at their antics.

The kids end up in front of the television set in the living room, putting on _Back to the Future_ —which has been Dustin’s favourite movie since he begged Steve to get it when it was first released on VHS this summer—while Billy hangs out with Steve in the kitchen, turning one of the chairs around so he can fold his arms over the back as he watches Steve shuffle from one side of the counter to the other, his eyes dark and serious.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says once Steve has poured the batter into a cake form and placed it in the oven to bake.

Steve hums absently. “What’s that?” he asks as he swipes his index fingers through the leftover batter in the mixing bowl and sticks it into his mouth, moaning happily at the taste. He flushes guiltily when he catches Billy looking and regretfully puts the bowl down.

“I know what you’re doing,” Billy repeats. He smirks when Steve’s hand twitches towards the bowl again before he catches himself. “I just don’t know why. What are you looking to get out of this, Harrington?”

Steve doesn’t even bother playing at innocence. “Who says I’m looking to get something out of this.”

“Nobody does anything for free.”

It’s clipped, a little guarded, maybe, and extremely matter of fact.

Steve rests his hands on top of his stomach and thinks, _No. My child is never going to feel that way. I refuse._

There must be something in his eyes, Steve unable to hide how sad he is by whatever circumstances that have made Billy this way—angry and so suspicious of the world that he would question a simple meal—because Billy’s face goes tight and his hands curl into fists.

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”  

“I don’t,” Steve lies badly, and Billy snorts disbelievingly but doesn’t call him out on it. Steve sighs. He walks over to the kitchen table, listening for the sound of the kids laughing out in the living room as he sits down. “I honestly did just want to thank you,” he says, making sure to keep his voice down so that the kids won’t overhear. “For last night, I mean. I went to Max because I didn’t have your address, or your phone number, and she insisted on tagging along. She misses you, you know.” Steve stares at the table so he won’t have to look at Billy when he adds, “I know what it is to miss someone you love. I didn’t think letting her come along would do any harm.”

Billy doesn't say anything for a long few seconds, and Steve wonders what it says about the two of them that he’s already becoming accustomed to these silences in between.

He takes comfort in it, that they can sit like this, just the two of them and the quiet—and he’s not entirely sure what that means, only that it feels significant.

“I don’t have a phone,” Billy says after a while, and when Steve lifts his head in surprise, he goes on. “You have to call the garage. If you want to reach me. During normal working hours, usually.”

“How do you not have a phone?” Steve asks, astonished.

Billy just looks at him, brows raised pointedly.

Steve feels his face go red, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mumbles, because Steve’s parents aren’t here, and he misses them no matter how many times he’s told himself he’s over it, but he’s never lacked money, and that isn’t true for everyone.

Billy shrugs. “Whatever. I had one. I had two, actually, but someone kept breaking into my apartment. Selling it for drugs, I guess. I don’t keep much of value there anymore.”

Steve stares at him. Billy has only lived in that place since graduation, not even a full three months, and his apartment has already been broken into at least twice?

He has to bite his lip not to say anything about it.

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re feeling sorry for me. Stop. I don’t fucking need your pity,” Billy snaps, and the way he keeps clenching and unclenching his right hand makes Steve think he really wants to punch something—Steve, probably—or he wants a cigarette.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t seen Billy smoke even once since this whole thing started, which is remarkable because before they graduated, Billy had been known to go through entire packs of cigarettes before the school day was even over.

“You can have a cigarette if you want to. It’s okay, I’ll just air out the kitchen later,” Steve offers, and that seems safer than saying, _I don’t pity you. I’m just sad. Your life makes me sad._

He doesn’t think Billy would take it kindly.

“No, I fucking can’t,” Billy grits out bitterly.

“Really, it’s okay. I don’t mind if—”

“You’re fucking pregnant.”

Steve blinks. “Yes?” he says. He doesn’t see the connection.

Billy shifts in his seat and doesn’t look at Steve. “It’s bad for the baby or whatever. You shouldn’t be around people who smoke.”

“I—” _What_? “What?” Steve says aloud. His obstetrician had told him if he smoked he should quit for the duration of the pregnancy, but never once had she mentioned secondhand smoke.

“My mother,” Billy starts before he seems to realise what he’s saying and he promptly cuts himself off. “It’s bad for the baby,” he repeats quietly, but with enough conviction that Steve can’t do anything but accept his words as truth.

“I didn’t know that,” he says.

“Yeah, well. Not a lot of people do.”

There’s a story there. Steve is sure of it. Billy had mentioned his mother, and for a second, Steve wonders if she had been exposed to people smoking when she’d been pregnant with Billy, but—

“Asthma can be a complication of smoking,” his doctor had said. “As well as underdeveloped lungs. You could also risk going into early labour and your baby ending up with a low birth weight, which could lead to a whole host of complications.”

“So no smoking?” Steve had asked dryly.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, no.”

—Billy has never seemed sickly. No question of _his_ lung capacity, Steve thinks, and flushes a bright red as he remembers the time he’d come across Billy with his head buried between Lisa Goodwin’s thighs at a party one of the players from the basketball team had hosted. It’d been a Christmas bash, before Steve found out about his pregnancy, and when he’d stumbled into what he’d thought was an empty room for a minute of privacy, Billy had looked up, his lips wet and glistening as he smirked at Steve.

“ _Princess_ ,” he’d said, taunted, and Lisa had moaned _, “Yes!”_ but Billy’s eyes had been on Steve.

“It was my sister,” Billy says suddenly, and Steve is startled out of his thoughts; Billy’s voice is such a jarring sound against the vividness of his memory that it takes Steve a second to blink away the vision of Billy, naked and smug, with Lisa Goodwin’s legs thrown over his broad shoulders as he dived back down.

Billy rolls his eyes at him. “Don’t think so hard, Harrington,” he sneers. “You’ll pull a muscle or something.” Billy leans against the back of his chair, tapping his fingers against the tabletop restlessly. “She was born premature. This little waif of a thing. I didn’t know it was possible for babies to be that small until she was born. Mom didn’t smoke, but it was just the two of us for a while there and when she got pregnant, she kept working. We needed the money. I was nine.”

Steve almost keeps quiet for fear of breaking the spell that seems to have settled over Billy, hardly able to believe that Billy is telling him this at all, but when he falls silent again, Steve can’t help but ask, “What did she do? Your mom, I mean. For work,” he adds when Billy looks at him questioningly.

“She was a stripper. She wanted to dance, like ballet and shit. She was really good too, it just never happened for her. So she danced in clubs; she actually made a pretty decent living in just tips alone. Guys used to smoke a lot, though.”

“It hurt the baby?” Steve guesses.

Billy nods. “My mom too. She died of lung cancer about a year after Serena died. That’s the official cause. Personally, I think she died of heartbreak. She didn’t want to go on without Serena.”

“Serena was your sister’s name?”

“Yeah. She died five days after she was born,” Billy says. His breath hitches, and his eyes shine wetly, but there are no tear tracks on his cheeks. He doesn’t cry, and Steve can’t help but wonder when was the last time he did—Steve couldn’t stop his own tears from falling even if he tried. He thinks about the baby in his belly, the child someone else has wished into existence, and he imagines, after all these months where he’s felt the life inside of him grow bigger and bigger, what it would be like if that life was suddenly gone.

Steve goes stiff for the fear of it.

He never wants to experience that. He never wants to be in a world where his child is not.

He thinks, if his baby dies, Steve will too. Like Billy’s mom.

Billy’s lips pull into a small smile, and it’s the saddest, most brittle thing Steve has ever seen. “Don’t cry, Harrington,” he says. “Serena was born too soon; her little body just wasn’t strong enough. It won’t be like that for you,” he adds, as if he can tell what Steve is thinking. “Your sprog is strong. You’ve been doing everything right as far as I can tell.”

Steve clutches at his stomach protectively, almost sobbing in relief when he feels an answering thump, as if the baby can sense Steve’s distress and is trying to comfort him in its own little way. He laughs wetly, dizzy with relief at the small sign of life.

“Sprog?” he asks, latching onto the word, desperate for something to distract him from the terrible tragedy that happened to Billy’s mom and sister.

Billy’s mouth twitches. “It’s what my mom used to call Serena before she was born. It’s British slang for kid; my mom was Irish, but she grew up with her grandmother in England before making her way to the States.” He glances towards the door, where they can hear the quiet hum of Max and Dustin talking over the sounds of the movie. “Max looks a lot like her, actually. I think it’s why my dad—” Billy breathes out shakily. “He’s always liked Max.”

There is so many things Steve wants to ask him— _Is that why your relationship with Max is so complicated? What happened to you after your mom died? How did you end up with your father? Where was he before?—_ but Billy looks raw and shattered, and he’s shared these things with Steve to help him, to help his baby and that’s—

That’s entirely unexpected, more generous than Steve would ever dare to hope from someone like Billy Hargrove, and he can’t possibly ask for more when Billy has given so much already.

So instead, Steve says, “Thank you for telling me about the secondhand smoke. I didn’t know that could be dangerous for the baby. Joyce smokes a lot—Joyce Byers,” he adds at Billy’s look of confusion. “Will and Jonathan Byers’ mom.”

Billy nods tightly. “You shouldn’t be around when she does.”

Before he can say anything to that, the timer Steve has set to make sure the brownies don’t burn goes off, and Dustin, who is near enough conditioned to respond to the telltale _ping_ ambles into the kitchen with Max in tow. They’ve both got wide grins on their faces.

“Brownies?” Dustin asks excitedly.

Steve can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. “Brownies,” he confirms, and if his voice is a little wobbly and his cheeks still wet with the tears he’d hurriedly wiped away when they’d heard Max and Dustin approaching, no one but Billy notices.    

**

By the time Billy has dropped off the kids and returned to Steve’s place with the car, Steve has managed to clear the table, clean the dishes, and wipe off the counter.

He grumbles under his breath about having done all the cooking and then being left with the cleanup too, and when he has to sit down for a moment because his ankles hurt, he swears that Dustin will get the dubious honour of cleanup duty next time.

The boy doesn’t have nearly enough chores for how spoiled he is.

“I would have helped, princess,” Billy says when he walks back into the kitchen and finds that everything is already cleared away. “Is the least I could do after you made dinner. You didn’t have to clean up alone.”

Steve shrugs and raises his glass of crushed ice in silent acknowledgement.

Billy snorts. “How many glasses of ice do you go through a day?” he asks.

The answer is more than Steve would actually care to put a number on, but he’s not about to tell Billy that, so he says, “Not that many,” which, from Billy’s smirk, probably didn’t sound all that believable.

“Shut up,” Steve says with a scowl, and Billy doesn’t actually say anything, but he holds up his hands in a show of peace. “Would you like something to drink? I don’t have beer or anything since, well.” He sweeps his hand over his stomach. “Since the sprog,” he says with a smile, and Steve wonders when this became a thing they do, sharing glances and smiles and secrets as if they’ve known each other forever instead of a year they spent being barely civil to each other.

Twenty four hours ago, Steve hadn’t even known that Billy had this kind of depth to him, that there was another side of him other than the angry, violent teenager Steve has come to know him as.

And the weird part, he thinks, the truly weird, bizarre part, is that it doesn’t feel strange at all.

“You’re thinking again,” Billy says.

“That’s what normal people do, yes.” It’s not until Billy lets out a startled laugh that Steve realises how snippy that came out. And Steve is never deliberately cruel, not anymore, so, “Sorry. Hormones,” he says, even as they both know that’s a weak excuse.

Billy only shakes his head, his eyes shining with amusement, and Steve _hates_ how attractive he looks in the warm glow of the sunset filtering through the kitchen windows.

_Dammit._

And damn his hormones too.

“Thanks for the offer, princess, but I gotta head out if I want to make it home before sunrise.”

Steve stares at him. “You’re going to _walk_?” It’ll take him all night if that’s how he plans to get back to his apartment.

“It’s Sunday. Bus doesn’t run this late.”

“That’s stupid. Just take my car or—”

Billy tilts his head, leveling Steve with that dark, intense look of his. “Or?” he prompts.

“Or you could stay here. I’ve got plenty of room.”

There’s no less than three guest rooms besides Steve’s bedroom; plus there is the bedroom his parent’s never use, and the one next to Steve’s that he has chosen as a nursery but hasn’t actually started preparing yet. Sometimes, it feels as if Steve has nothing _but_ room, and he’s still a couple of months away from when the baby will take up some of that space.

It’ll be nice to have company staying over, even if it’s just a friend or whatever the hell it is Billy is to him now.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s no problem at all. I can drive you to work tomorrow; I have a doctor’s appointment anyway,” Steve says blithely. “Besides, I live closer. It will be more convenient for you.”

Billy drags his hand through his hair. “This is a bad idea,” he reiterates, and Steve smiles, satisfied.

Billy Hargrove, he’s starting to understand, is a bit of a pushover.

**

In the morning, Steve makes them breakfast; eggs and bacon.

Billy says, “Thank you,” all quiet and solemn, and Steve answers with a small smile.

“You’re welcome.”

It’s a good morning.

**

Steve drops Billy off at the garage before heading downtown. It’s true that he does have a doctor’s appointment, but not until ten—three hours after Billy starts work.

Steve very deliberately did not tell Billy this.

He swings by the police station before his appointment, to visit Hopper and try to swindle Flo out of her chocolate chip cookie recipe, which is a semi-regular occurrence that usually never goes anywhere because Flo keeps that recipe locked down tighter than Fort Knox.

“You’re looking well,” Hopper tells him when he steps out into the parking lot to help Steve out of the car—Steve is grateful. He is going to have to make due on his own once he gets to the clinic. “Are you finally sleeping better?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a grimace. “Last two night have been good, though. Baby’s been calmer for some reason.” He looks down at his stomach, rubbing the bulge fondly.

Hopper smiles widely. “You still holding out on the gender? Sure you don’t wanna know?”

“I want it to be a surprise!”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Come on, let’s go see if we can’t wheedle out some cookies from Flo. I know she has a secret stash lying around here somewhere.”

**

The first thing Steve says when he sees his doctor is, “Is it true that secondhand smoking can be dangerous for the baby.”

Dr. Matthews blinks at him. “That’s debatable,” she says. “There have been some studies but nothing concrete that proves anything. It’s not a widely accepted medical opinion. What we do know is that smoking when done by the carrying parent can potentially be harmful to the baby, like I told you before, but you should be fine around other people.”

“Should be?” Steve asks incredulously.

Dr. Matthews shrugs carelessly. “About twenty years ago or so, expecting parents were told smoking was good for them because it was so relaxing and could reduce a person's stress levels. And even just a couple of years ago, no one would think twice if anyone smoked throughout their pregnancy.” She looks at Steve from over the top of her spectacles. “I really wouldn’t be concerned about secondhand smoking.”

Steve’s jaw drops. He’s been pleased with his doctor so far, but to be dismissed so fully and carelessly; it makes Steve seethe with anger.

He thinks about Billy and the hitch in his breath as he’d told Steve about his mom and sister, dead because of smoke and the danger it had posed to them. He wonders if anyone had warned Billy’s mom about the smoke or if she had been wholly unprepared.

She probably hadn't known, Steve thinks, and the thought makes him unbearably sad, because that lack of knowledge had cost Billy is his family.

That’s not going to happen to Steve. If nothing else, Billy has made sure of that.

**

Steve gets a new doctor.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you very much for all the comments! I really appreciate it <3


	4. Chapter 4

“Harrington,” Billy says with no small amount of resignation when Steve shows up at the garage right after closing time. “You’re like a particularly bad case of fungus, aren’t you? Just can’t seem to get rid of you. Why are you here?”

He seems entirely unsurprised by Steve’s presence, if not a little weary, which Steve chooses to ignore—along with the insult—in favour of smiling at him brightly. “I’m picking you up. I figured since it’s technically my fault you don’t have your car with you I’d drive you back to your place.”  

Billy’s brows go up, and he tilts his head to the side, considering Steve for a moment. Steve tries very hard not to fidget, and it can’t have been more than a few seconds, but it seems like forever before Billy visibly gives in, his shoulders slumping as he grumbles something under his breath too low for Steve to hear properly.

It sounds suspiciously like, _“Such_ a fucking idiot,” but Billy still walks up to the car without a protest, and this time, he doesn’t ask Steve for the keys before he gets in.

Steve takes it for the win he knows it is.

They drive in silence, downtown Hawkins growing smaller in the rearview mirror as the minutes tick away, and it should be awkward, Steve thinks, but it’s not. Steve and Billy’s relationship has always been a rollercoaster, turmulent from the very beginning. They’ve had their differences, their problems, but for whatever else, it’s never been awkward between them.

Even now, there is no hesitation when Billy asks, “How’d your doctor’s appointment go?” and Steve and Billy really aren’t close enough for this to be something Steve should feel comfortable telling Billy—regardless of whatever it is that has happened between the two of them over the last couple of days—but Steve doesn’t think twice before he’s off and running, his mood souring at the memory of his latest checkup.

He feels his jaw tick with irritation as he remembers his doctor's callousness. “Well enough. The baby’s fine, and it looks like it’s developing right on track, finally. There was some concern earlier in my pregnancy that the baby might be too small because it took me so long before I started to show. Everything looks fine now, though, but they’re a little concerned about my ribs—the baby keeps abusing them; they’re worried I’ll break something,” Steve explains when Billy looks at him in question.

Billy nods in understanding, and Steve sneaks a quick glance at him, wondering if he should tell Billy about having switched doctors or not.

He made the switch because of Billy, though, because of what Billy had told him, and Steve might never have known the potential danger he was putting his baby through without him, so he says, quietly, “I asked for a new doctor today. I have to go back to the clinic tomorrow to meet with her.”

Billy narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“After what you told me about your mom and sister, I asked my previous doctor about secondhand smoking and she totally dismissed me. I’m not interested in staying on as a patient when she wouldn't even take my concerns seriously—she basically said they don’t really know about the full consequences of secondhand smoke but that I shouldn’t worry about it.”

Steve is still seething about it; he’s furious that a medical professional would be so cavalier about something so serious. Inside his stomach, the baby shifts restlessly, as if in agreement.

“That’s…that’s good,” Billy says carefully. Steve can feel him staring, eyes locked on Steve’s face; Steve tightens his grip on the steering wheel nervously.

“Yes, well. I kept thinking about what you told me, and it seemed like a good idea. I don’t want to take unnecessary risks, you know?”

Billy says nothing to that, just looks at Steve in that solemn manner of his before finally dragging his eyes away. “Yeah,” he says, and turns to stare out of the window.

They drive the rest of the way in silence.

**

Joyce cries when Steve tells her what he’s learnt about smoking and that he’s switched doctors because of it.

“I’ll quit,” she says determinedly. “That baby is not going to suffer because of me.”

She looks ready to do it too, and Steve knows that Joyce smokes indiscriminately—inside, outside, and several times a day—and feels so much love for her that he starts crying as well.

They end up sobbing together on the Byers’ couch, huddling close until they’re a loud, blubbering mess that has Will hesitantly making his way into the living room to awkwardly ask if there is something wrong and is there anything he can do to help?  

Joyce sends him away with easy assurances and a promise of it being a “Parental thing”, but Steve can still hear Will calling gently into his walkie for backup. _They’re crying. Both of them! What do I do?_

He’s not surprised when the rest of the boys arrive some time after that, and happily accepts Dustin’s hug when he sits down on the couch next to Steve and pulls him into his arms.

_You’re okay. I’m here if you need me. Whatever it is._

Steve manages to smile through his sobs and Joyce laughs wetly, saying Dustin is such a sweet boy and he’ll make a special someone very happy one day.

Dustin grins and does his weird purr thing; Steve rolls his eyes.

He ends up spending the rest of the day at the Byers’, assisting Joyce with making dinner and then gently nudging her to the side so he can take over when she manages to burn their soup and they have to start over.

She looks so betrayed by the burnt mass that Steve can’t help but laugh and laugh and he thinks family isn’t always blood and the people you were born to. Family is made up of the people you love, the people you want to spend time with, and who makes you laugh when you really need it. Family is the people who love you no matter what.

Steve’s family is a little different, maybe, and it’s not complete yet, he thinks as he strokes his hand over his stomach, but it’s his and it’s perfect and that is all he can ask for.

**

Steve’s new doctor is a relic of a woman, and she may be an old dinosaur, but she is a damn good doctor, much better than these new young’uns who think they’re all that, and _don’t you dare forget it, Mr. Harrington_.

She’s birthed three wishbabies herself, and all of her grandbabies are wishbabies; “My grandson,” she says, “has got babies on the brain, but he’s yet to settle down with a partner. You mark my words, he’ll have a wishbaby of his own soon enough.”

Dr. Lima is something of an expert on wishbabies, she tells Steve. She even wrote a book on it, and she's kind enough to provide Steve a copy of the book to take home—he kind of wants to bring _her_ home with him, because the closer Steve gets to his due date, the more he’s been worrying about the part where there will actually be a baby that he has to take care of 24/7, and Dr. Lima seems like she’d know what to do in any given situation.

“Bah!” she exclaims when Steve tells her this. “You will learn, young man, as all parents must. Soon you’ll be an expert as well.”

Steve has his doubts, but Dr. Lima’s glare is enough to cow him into submission.

Besides her forceful personality, Steve likes the old woman a lot. She listens to his concerns with an attentive look on her face, and agrees with Steve’s assessment on secondhand smoke, saying she’s been around long enough to see the damage for herself—although she admits that the medical community as a whole really isn’t all that concerned about it yet.

“Too deep in the pockets of the tobacco companies,” she says darkly, but insists that in the future, this will change as more and more people get educated about what tobacco really does to a person’s health.

“Now, I understand that you are to be a single parent. How are you finding things at home? You live alone, yes? Are you getting around okay? I’m not comfortable having you drive by yourself for much longer; you’ll be a danger to yourself and others in traffic if you’re hit by a contraction when you’re behind the wheel.”

Steve blanches. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I usually have passengers along as well. Should I stop driving already, you think?”

“You should be good for another two to three weeks.” Dr. Lima eyes Steve critically. “You won’t make it to term, is my guess. The baby is already settling into a downward position and your stomach is very firm now. A little more than a month, I’d say, and your baby should be here.”

Steve feels a little faint at that. A month is nothing. How is he meant to be ready in just a month? He doesn’t even have the nursery ready. He doesn’t even have the stuff he needs to get the nursery ready.

As if knowing exactly what he’s thinking, Dr. Lima cackles and pats his knee. “Don’t you worry,” she says cheerfully. “It’ll all work out as it’s meant to.”

“Right,” Steve says, and wishes he’d believe that as strongly as Dr. Lima seems to.

**

He has just made his way out of the clinic and is shuffling his way across the parking lot to his car when he hears, “Well, well, if it isn’t king Steve. Anyone would think you’re stalking me the way you keep showing up.”

Steve rolls his eyes at the familiar voice and the smug, playful tone. There’s a witty remark at the tip of his tongue when he turns to face Billy, but as he takes in the sight of him, Steve’s mind promptly goes blank.  

Billy shifts on his feet, restless, his shoulders bunched up around his ears defensively. “Don’t look at me like that, princess. You’ll give me a complex.”

“What happened,” Steve asks quietly. He steps towards Billy, unable to keep his hand from lifting to gently trace over the massive bruising on his face; his left eye is swollen shut, his lip split, and there is a cut on his cheek where there’s a mottling of deep bruises. He looks as if someone took a bat to his face.

Billy winces at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away, letting Steve tuck a lock of his blond hair behind his ear so he can see better where there is another cut at his temple.

“Billy, what happened?” Steve asks again, and he doesn’t even try to hide the hitch in his breath or the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, because this wasn’t supposed to happen to Billy anymore. Not since he moved out of his father’s house. “Who did this to you?”

Billy shrugs and steps away from Steve.

“A couple of guys; I don’t know them. Someone broke into the apartment again. Didn’t think I’d be home, I guess. I surprised them.” He holds his hands up so Steve can see his red and swollen knuckles, sneering halfheartedly. “Oh, come on, princess. It’s not as if I didn’t give as good as I got. You should’ve seen the other guys,” he says, but the joke falls flat and Steve just feels sad. Sad and angry and _scared_.

He’s terrified of what might happen the next time someone breaks into Billy's place when he's home. Or if the guys who’d already broken in would come back for revenge—and Steve and Billy haven't always seen eye to eye, but Steve would never wish him harm. Would never want to hear that Billy had gotten himself into some kind of problem he couldn’t get himself out of.

He can so clearly picture it, is the thing, and Steve has to choke back a sob at the thought of Billy alone and helpless, beaten within an inch of his life somewhere with no one to take care of him or promise him that everything would be okay.

No one to promise him a safe place.

“Don’t go back there,” Steve begs, and the thought of it is positively unbearable. “Don’t go back—Stay with me. Please. I’ve got more than enough room, and it’s closer to work, and you can see Max whenever, and—”

“Stop it,” Billy says simply. His face has gone shuttered again, what little Steve can see of it beneath the damage, and suddenly Steve is angry. He’s furious in the way that makes his blood simmer to a dangerous boil, and he recognises that some of it is residual, he does, because nearly a year ago it was _Steve’s_ bloody face and Billy who’d done the damage, and he’d felt helpless and powerless and terrified out of his mind because what if Billy didn’t _stop_ —and Steve never would have thought they’d ever reach the point where Steve is feeling these things on _Billy’s_ behalf.

Not even after Billy apologised for what he'd done.

But.

It’s a year later, and here they are. Here they are, and Steve is no longer powerless.

“No, you stop!” Steve steps closer and pushes a finger at Billy’s chest; he puffs his cheeks out in frustration when Billy doesn’t even budge. Stupid muscles. “I get that you’re not used to people caring about you or whatever, but Max does, okay? And _I_ care. I’m not even sure you deserve it, to be honest, but I care, Billy, even if you don’t want me to. I care.”

“I—”

“Don’t go back there,” Steve says again. “It’s dangerous, you said so yourself, and I’m telling you; you don’t have to. Stay with me.”

Billy glares angrily, and _god_ , even that must hurt, his facial muscles pulling painfully at his tender bruises.

Steve aches for him.

“I don’t need your fucking charity, Harrington,” Billy snaps. “I don’t need _you_.”

Steve shakes his head, exasperated. “It’s not charity, you idiot,” he snaps back. “It’s basic human decency. You’re not safe there. Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same for me?”    

“I wouldn’t have,” Billy says, and Steve hears the truth in his voice. If nothing else, Billy really believes that.

Steve doesn’t. “Liar,” he says firmly, because just three days ago, Billy Hargrove had seen him crying in a parking lot and had bought him crushed ice without so much as a by your leave.

For Steve, because he needed it.

And,  _What you did today was dangerous._

That’s what Billy had told him after Steve had brought Dustin and Max to his apartment. _That place isn’t safe_.

He’d been worried, hadn’t wanted any of them there because it wasn’t safe. Steve doesn’t think Billy realises just how much he’s revealed of himself these last three days.

Probably wouldn’t like it if he did. Probably doesn’t like it regardless.

“Liar,” Steve repeats. “You’re a liar, Billy Hargrove, and we both know it.”

**

They do both know it.

Billy moves in the next day.

**

Steve manages to keep his new roommate secret for a grand total of five days. On the sixth, Dustin shows up with the other boys—and El—demanding to know why he hasn’t been invited over for dinner even once that week. He grumbles at Steve from the welcome mat and complains about how he was getting worried that something might have happened and _Where have you been anyway?_

Max arrives a couple of minutes later. She’s got her brave face on and her shoulders squared determinedly.

“I want to go back to see Billy,” she says, and Steve has just enough time to blink at the gaggle of kids standing on his front porch before Billy comes sauntering— _sauntering_ , the smug bastard—down the stairs with no shirt on and a measly towel tied precariously around his slim hips.

“Oi, princess,” he says carelessly. “We’re out of that fancy shampoo of yours. Add it to the list, yeah, and I’ll go out for groceries after dinner.”

Steve breathes in deeply and rubs at his temple wearily.

“What the _fuck_.”

“What is _he_ doing here.”

“Billy!” Max exclaims, and then catches herself, tempering the bright grin on her face as she realises she looked positively cheerful just then.

Steve rolls his eyes. Teenagers.

“Seriously, Harrington,” Billy drawls as he makes his way over to the door, pressing up against Steve’s back and hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder because this is what a truly relaxed Billy Hargrove is like, apparently: constantly underfoot and generally making a nuisance of himself because getting on Steve’s nerves is a favourite pastime of his for all that they’re friends now.

Friend _ly._

Roommates, at least.

“Why do you keep hanging out with a bunch of little teenagers?” Billy snakes his arm around Steve’s chest, and Steve _knows_ Billy smirks when he hears the stutter in Steve’s breath; his chest is so sensitive now. Billy had been _delighted_ when he found out, the jerk.

And hadn’t that been awkward, Billy walking in accidentally while Steve had taken care of his out of control libido, gasping out a soundless prayer as he flicked at his engorged right nipple.

 _Fuck_ , Billy had said, and his eyes had been dark, dark, dark.

“Steve?” Dustin asks. He’s eyeing Billy warily, taking in the bruises that still haven’t faded and probably won’t be completely healed for another week still.

Steve sighs and elbows Billy, hard. “Go put on some clothes, you perv. You’re freaking out the kids.”

Billy laughs and smacks Steve on the ass, but he makes his way up the stairs without another word.

Max looks at Steve hopefully, and Steve smiles at her gently and angles his stomach to the side in invitation. “Go on, then,” he says. “Go see your brother.”

She grins and steps around him, jogging up the stairs after Billy.

Steve turns back to the rest of the kids. “So. Dinner?”

**

He makes pancakes, proper European ones that Steve has loved since his parents brought him along to England on a rare family trip years ago, and which El had been sceptical about the first time she sat down to taste but has since become a favourite of hers akin to her precious Eggos.

It should probably be embarrassing how pleased that makes him, but Steve can’t bring himself to care, not when El carefully hands him flour and salt and eggs and milk and then stares, fascinated, as Steve mixes it all together.

“Bacon?” she asks hopefully when Steve puts the pancake mixture in the fridge to rest for a few minutes.

Steve grins. “Of course.” El had been all big eyes, glancing at her food wondrously the first time Steve had served her bacon wrapped in pancakes; she’d had no idea savoury and sweet could be mixed together like that. “Just don’t tell your dad,” he says cheerfully.

El nods seriously.

“So. Billy Hargrove,” Lucas says pointedly from the kitchen table. He keeps glancing at the door, his foot jiggling up and down impatiently. He looks as if he wants to trail after Max up the stairs. “What’s he doing here?”

“What _is_ he doing here?” Mike asks, and the look on his face is more than a little judgemental.

Steve sighs; he knows the Party won’t like it, and it’s Will’s trusting eyes and Dustin’s open face that lets him say, “He lives here now.”

“Unsafe,” El says knowingly, and they all look at her, surprised. She ignores them and goes back to poke at the bacon frying in the pan; she takes her assistant chef duties _very_ seriously.

“Yes,” Steve agrees. He looks back at the boys. “You saw his face. Someone broke into his apartment. It wasn’t even the first time, only he was home this time. They beat him up pretty bad.”

Lucas scoffs. “Probably deserved it.”

“No one deserves that,” Steve says firmly. He can’t even imagine what it must have been like for Billy. It’s not just the fact that he was beaten up, which is bad enough on its own, it’s that he was unsafe, like El had said, always.

He'd _felt_ unsafe in his own home, and Steve knows Billy must have felt that way with his father too; moving out was supposed to make it better, but Billy had gone from bad to worse.

“So you invited him to live with you,” Dustin says, and it’s not a question. He looks a little resigned, maybe, but still trusting, still believing that Steve knows what he’s doing.

Steve has to suppress a hysterical laugh. At least one of them do.

“It’s a kindness,” Will says, quiet but firm. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Will!” Mike and Lucas protest, but El nods her head in agreement from her place by the stove.

“It’s right,” she says with that eerie, sage way of hers. “How it’s supposed to be.”

Steve glances at her, curious, but before he can ask, Max comes bounding into the kitchen. “Hey, guys!”

Billy walks in behind her more calmly, thankfully fully dressed even if his shirt has been left unbuttoned practically to his navel.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Are you physically incapable of buttoning your shirt?” he asks, exasperated.

Billy grins at him and blows him an obnoxious kiss.

El giggles, and Billy winks at her cheekily; Mike narrows his eyes at Billy with murderous intent.

“Oh my god,” Steve says to no one in particular, exasperated by their antics, and from his seat next to Will, Dustin gives him a wide, toothless grin.

“You’re the one who invited him to live with you,” he points out, and Steve has to hold back a sigh, because yes, that is the truth.

He watches as Billy allows Max to bully him into a seat by the table before she sits down in the chair next to him, glaring at the rest of the Party as if there were any danger at all of any of them claiming the seat instead.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says, lifting one hand to ruffle Max’s hair. “Your glare is the stuff of nightmares and legend, but dial it back a bit, yeah?” He sounds annoyed, but after six days of living together, Steve can already tell that he’s pleased—it makes him happy that Max is so protective of him, that she sees him as the brother Billy tried so long and so hard not to be to her.

Billy glances over at Steve expectantly. “Where’s the food then, Harrington? Thought you were making dinner.”

Steve rolls his eyes again. He does that a lot around Billy. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, and Dustin is right, Steve is the one who got himself into this.

He’s the one who invited Billy to live with him.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t regret that at all.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who comments! I'm so delighted by the interest you've all taken in this story. Like some of you have guessed, Billy is *not* aware that Steve's baby is a wishbaby, so that will definitely come as a bit of a shock to him.
> 
> Also, some people have been asking about how wishbabies actually work, and as far as I have always understood it, wishbabies is based on intent and desire and is kind of unexplainable, really.
> 
> It's pretty much an excuse for surprise babies, and usually wishbabies arrive without the presence of a pregnacy -- babies showing up at the door, unexplained, or sailing down from the sky in a basket tied to balloons or with the stork seems to be the norm. I've never seen wishbabies in the form of a pregnancy before, so I thought that would be a pretty interesting concept to explore.


	5. Chapter 5

Living with Billy is somehow everything and nothing at all like Steve had expected it would be.

Billy is brash and loud and demanding—he complains endlessly when Steve buys the wrong brand of milk or cereal; he trails after Steve from room to room, picking up after him and generally bemoaning Steve’s status as a slob and his utter inability to keep anything but the kitchen spotless.

“It’s not your fault, princess,” Billy will say. “You’re a rich kid; can’t expect you to have learnt to keep a room straight when there was always someone else to do it for you.” And the words are cutting and sharp, far closer to the truth than Steve is comfortable admitting, because even without the live-in nannies there had been a cleaning service coming by every Friday afternoon until Steve got pregnant and he told his parents he was determined to do it himself because that’s what normal people _do_.

Which Billy knows, because Steve is a talker and is likely to share his thoughts on everything from the different shades of blue to the history of the pineapple if only someone stops long enough to listen. So Billy makes comments, but the tone is almost always teasing, and there’s a playful smirk on Billy’s face and something like exasperated fondness in his eyes that gentle the sting of his words as he picks up _another_ wet towel from the bathroom floor.

It’s almost considerate, in that contradictory way that Billy has. It’s the same way he’ll bitch at Steve for adding ingredients to their dinner he hasn’t even heard off before, but will eat every single piece of food on his plate and always goes for seconds to show his appreciation for a well-cooked meal. It’s the way he hovers anxiously when Steve walks up and down the stairs but keeps making pointed comments about Steve looking more like a beached whale than an actual human being these days. It’s the way he _cares_ so much, even as he loudly and emphatically states that he does not—a lie so obvious Steve can’t even bring himself to point it out.

It’s…surprising. Steve is constantly surprised by him, which, in all fairness, has pretty much been his default setting when it comes to dealing with Billy since the very beginning. That still holds true, even after almost a month of cohabitation. 

Billy’s bruises have faded away by now, and Steve, as Billy likes to point out, has gotten so big he actively needs help getting to his feet from a seated position; he’s been officially banned from driving and had handed over the keys to his BMW to Billy with only a small pout of regret.

Billy had rolled his eyes and muttered, “For fuck’s sake,” under his breath, but he also drives Steve around whenever he asks as long as he’s not at work, and that too is surprising.

But less so the more Steve gets to know him. 

He learns a lot about Billy in that first month they live together, like how Billy is a compulsive cleaner and that he loves all cars indiscriminately and talks to them as if they’re sentient—but no matter how much Billy loves his cars and cares for them, he should never be trusted with flowers or potted plants _ever_. 

Steve learns that for as much as Billy teases Steve about his Farrah Fawcett products and the amount of time he spends on his appearance, Billy is just as vain and would rather lose a limb than cut more than two inches off his hair, and even that is a hardship almost too unbearable to suffer.

(More than anything, Steve learns that Billy Hargrove is a bit of a drama queen.)

He discovers that Billy is an avid reader, and Billy wouldn’t have been able to hide that even if he’d tried because he always has a book lying around somewhere. Often, he’ll even buy two copies of the same book so that he and Max can read it simultaneously and discuss them afterwards. He has a love of Shakespeare—he thinks all the dirty jokes are _hilarious_ —and a secret one of Austen, but hates Dickens and Hardy for reasons he can’t, or won't, explain. He prefers science fiction to fantasy—although he’s read all three volumes of _The Lord of the Rings_ , and Dustin had gone nearly apocalyptic with glee when he found out—but crime stories are his favourite even if they aren’t as grand as _Twelfth Night_ or _Sense and Sensibility._

Mostly, Billy will read anything he comes across, which means it was only a matter of time before he stumbled upon Dr. Lima’s book on wishbabies. It happens like this:

One day after work, Billy finds him in the living room. Steve is lounged up on the sofa, growling at a knitting recipe Flo has assured him is _Super easy; even you should be able to complete it,_ and tugging at a knot he’s not even sure how became such a tangled mess because knitting is something expectant parents should do and he wants his baby to have something real and meaningful that Steve made with his own two hands and not just the mountain of designer baby clothes and other baby paraphernalia that his mother had shipped out a few days ago.

It’s not going well. Possibly, Steve should have started this project months ago. Possibly, Steve should have learned how to knit before he decided to make a baby blanket.

“Oi, princess,” Billy instantly complains as he walks into the room. “Why is there no dinner on the table when you know I’ve just come off a twelve-hour shift? I thought that was in the job description for all housewives.” He looks at the knitting needles in Steve’s hands pointedly, and sends Steve a truly shiteating grin.

Steve glowers at him. “I am _not_ a housewife,” he says firmly, before adding, “I am definitely not _your_ housewife,” just in case there was some confusion about that. He likes to cook, and he likes to cook for others, but Billy shouldn't be expecting Steve to make him food just because Steve is a stay-at-home parent-to-be, or whatever. And Steve knows that Billy actually doesn’t expect anything of him, much less food on the table for when he gets home from work—it’s a kindness, and Billy is never anything but pathetically grateful whenever Steve’s feet doesn’t ache for long enough to let him cook a meal these days, which is evident in Billy’s surprised look and the solemn manner he always thanks Steve for the food no matter how many times Steve has cooked for him now.  

But he likes to tease, and Steve always, _always_ falls for it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says, and gently lifts up Steve’s swollen feet from the end of the couch so he can collapse into the cushions tiredly, head falling back to rest against the back of the sofa even as he starts to kneed his thumb into the sole of Steve’s right foot.

Steve does not moan at how good it feels. He doesn’t.

“How was your day?” he asks. He puts down his project, knowing there will be no more knitting today. He glares at the yarn and needles bitterly. Tomorrow, he promises himself. He’ll conquer the art of knitting tomorrow.

Billy grunts. “Long. I spent most of the day fixing Justin’s mess.”

“Again?”

“Fucking again,” Billy says with a weary sigh. He sounds exhausted more than angry, and they haven’t lived together long, but Steve has already heard several rants about Justin Moore and why he is the worst mechanic on the face of the planet. “I don’t even know why old man Gary keeps him around. He’s useless.”

“They’re related, I think,” Steve says. “Or at least they knew each other from before. Justin is Gary’s grand-niece’s second cousin’s best friend’s son or something like that. I’m pretty sure his employment was a favour to his mother, anyway.”

Billy shakes his head. “Only in fucking Hawkins,” he mutters. He turns his head to look at Steve. “How do you even know that? And what the hell am I sitting on?” he complains, and lifts his hips just enough to grab the book Steve had carelessly tossed to that side of the couch a few hours ago when he’d begun his knitting project. Billy turns the book over so he can read the title on the front. He blinks down at the cover. “This is a book on wishbabies,” he says.

“Yeah, my doctor gave it to me. She’s an expert on the subject, apparently. Thought it’d be a good idea to read. I haven’t finished it yet, though.”

“Why would you need a book about wishbabies?”

“Because I’m having one?” Steve says, and lets his words lilt just enough to make it a question.

Billy stares at him. “What,” he says flatly. 

And Steve is hit with the sudden realisation that after all this time, Billy still doesn’t know. Max does, and Steve supposes he’s just assumed she would have told Billy, but she’d have no reason to, would she? And Billy probably never asked who the other parent was.

More likely, the subject of Steve’s baby never came up between the siblings at all.

“My baby is a wishbaby,” Steve explains. “That’s why I’m doing this on my own. Didn’t you wonder who the other parent was?”

“I thought it was some deadbeat jerk who took off or whatever!” Billy exclaims. He seems genuinely distressed by the news. “Who is the other parent then? Why aren’t they helping you out? Is it that Wheeler girl? Or Will’s brother, Johnny or whatever?”

“Jonathan,” Steve corrects, but Billy ignores him.

“Is it, _god_ , don’t tell me, is it _Tommy_?”

“No!” Steve snaps. “Tommy is not the father of my fucking baby, jesus.” Steve would never have survived the horror. Or Carol, who would absolutely have scratched his eyes out the minute she found out.

Billy goes red with anger. “Then who is?” he demands.

“I don’t know! Okay? I have no idea. I was on wish suppressants and I ended up pregnant anyway. _I’m_ not the one who wished my baby into existence. Someone else did.”

There’s a sudden silence after Steve’s outburst, and what a sight they must make, Steve thinks absently, screaming at each other on the sofa, Billy still holding the book with one hand and Steve’s foot in the other—and not once had his grip tightened around Steve’s skin, not once had it hurt even as Billy had gotten more and more upset.

“You don’t know,” Billy repeats incredulously. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. “It’s a wishbaby,” he says to himself, distracted, and he seems shocked and awed in equal measures. When he carefully moves Steve’s feet to the side again and gets up from his seat so he can stalk out of the room, Steve has no idea what just happened.

The book goes with Billy.  

**

Steve spends about a day and a half thinking that maybe Billy has some kind of problem with wishbabies.

Some people do, he knows. They think wishbabies are an abomination, something vile and unnatural even as wishbabies account for one in four babies. People are weird, and twisted, and Steve doesn’t know how anyone could think _any_ baby is vile and wrong, but he honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Billy turns out to be one of them.

He’ll have to throw him out, he thinks, and the thought of it makes him oddly sad. It’s been…nice, having someone to share his space with these last few weeks. Steve hasn’t felt lonely even once—and no wonder, with Billy always underfoot, loud and bright and filling every corner of every room with his presence until sometimes all Steve sees is Billy; Billy hovering close in case Steve needs something; Billy massaging his feet when they ache so bad Steve has to bite his lip to keep from whimpering in pain because he refuses to take any kind of drugs while he’s still pregnant. Billy driving out at two in the morning to cater to Steve’s latest craving, or staring at Steve, utterly baffled, as he explained that the sheets on the bed should be changed at least every two weeks.

_Seriously? You change the bedding that often?_

Steve imagines all of that gone and feels so cold and empty inside it’s as if he can hear the echo of his own hollow bones.

He doesn’t quite understand how Billy’s presence has become so entwined with Steve’s life in such a short time, but he knows that he’ll miss it if that suddenly disappears. He’ll miss Billy.

Steve spends hours worrying anxiously, and when it turns out he needn’t have worried about it at all, he’s so relieved that he can’t even muster up the annoyance at Billy for having his mind spinning in circles in the first place.

“Did you know the first recorded instances of wishbabies were during the years right after the Black Plague?” Billy asks nonchalantly as he walks into Steve’s bedroom the next evening. He makes his way over to the bed, plopping down on the covers next to where Steve has been stress knitting for the last three hours. Billy leans his back against the wall and crosses his feet in front of him, making himself comfortable, casual as you please.

It’s not the first time Billy has found his way into Steve’s bed—always clothed and _never_ with any intent, not after the first accidental walk-in, but Steve is surprised all the same.

“I did,” he says tentatively and puts away his knitting needles. “The theory is that people were so desperate for children to help work the land and help tend to the sick, right?”  

Billy nods. “According to this, anyway,” he says and holds up Dr. Lima’s book. “It’s a pretty fascinating read. I’ve never really sat down to read about wishbabies before. Did you know that wishbabies have a thirty per cent greater chance than the average person to have another wishbaby?”

“No,” Steve says. “I didn’t.” He hasn’t gotten that far in the book yet, but he remembers Dr. Lima saying all of _her_ kids were wishbabies and all of her grandchildren too. She even thought her grandson would have a wishbaby one day too. It sort of makes sense, when he thinks about it.

Billy hums. He flicks through a couple of pages in the book. “I’m a wishbaby,” he says casually.

“You are?” Steve blurts out, and feels the relief wash over him like a rush of waves because Billy probably doesn’t think of himself as an abomination, which means he won’t think Steve’s baby is either. 

Billy lifts his shoulders into a shrug. “My mom always wanted kids, but Dad didn’t. When she wished for it badly enough that she got pregnant with me, he left. Came back in time for Serena and did it all over again. He hated having to take me in when Mom died. Hated it more when he met Susan; she had Max, you know. A real person, he called her.”

Steve stares at him. He can read the subtext just fine. A real person whereas Billy hadn’t been in the eyes of Neil Hargrove, because Billy is a wishbaby and Neil Hargrove is one of those people who’d look at him and see only a freak of nature. Something wrong. Something irredeemable.

A few pieces of the puzzle that is Billy slot into place, so many questions answered.

The more Steve learns about Neil Hargrove, the more he wonders how Billy hasn’t ended up more messed up than he already is.

“Your dad is an asshole, Billy,” Steve says fiercely. “You’re—” He breaks off, waiting until Billy lifts his gaze from the book to look at him before he says, “He’s stupid not to want you.” Billy opens his mouth to protest, but Steve shakes his head. He places his hand on Billy’s arm. “He is. He’s wrong, Billy. You—” Steve stares at him earnestly, desperately hoping that Billy reads the truth in his face. “It’s his loss.”

Billy’s eyes rove over the planes of Steve’s face, his gaze intent and searching. Finally, after what seems like ages, he seems to have found what he was looking for. “Is it, now?” he asks softly, and before Steve can answer, before he can say, _yes, it’s your father’s loss. It is. I’m so glad you’re in my life,_ Billy leans over to gently press his lips to Steve’s forehead, stroking a lock of hair away from his eyes and looking at him so fondly it takes Steve’s breath away. 

“You really are something else, Harrington,” Billy says, and he sounds so wondrous, so peculiar. As if Steve isn’t quite real.

“I—”

“Goodnight, princess,” Billy cuts him off, and when he walks out of the room, leaving the book behind, he closes the door softly behind him.

**

Something settles between them after that. An understanding that wasn’t there before even though they’d never had any problems in the time they’d lived together. But still, they’re kinder to each other, more comfortable in each other’s presence beneath the banter and the snark.

“You get any more comfortable, and I’m going to have to start calling him my brother-in-law, won’t I?” Dustin says smartly, wiggling his brows obnoxiously when Steve tries to explain how things have been with Billy since he moved in.

Steve rolls his eyes and cuffs the back of Dustin’s neck, but there is a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth that he can’t quite hide, and he only feels warm at the thought that Dustin considers them to be brothers the way Steve himself does. It makes him want to explain what Billy is really like, and he thinks Dustin would even take Steve at face value when he says that for all his bluster and flair and _loudness_ , Billy is a gentle soul beneath it all, someone who takes his work and duties seriously. 

Duties that now, apparently, include Steve and the baby as well.

It starts with the nursery. Billy comes home one day with a bunch of colour swatches—all different shades of blue—and says, “Right. You’re choosing a colour and then we’re buying paint and you’re gonna sit and look pretty while I paint the nursery. You’re like a goddamn balloon; you’re gonna pop any day now and the baby needs a place to sleep, so.”

Steve blinks at him. “These are all blues,” he says stupidly.

“Because you have a weird thing about blue and colours aren’t gendered anyway. And you’ve been stalling long enough. You’re choosing a colour and then we’ll set about finishing up the nursery.”

“Can we do a contrast wall?” Steve asks hopefully, because he does have a thing about blue and some of the darker shades Billy has chosen would look lovely against the lighter, softer ones—so pale they’re almost white. The colours are soothing, and Steve so easily pictures it in his mind, sitting in the rocking chair Joyce had gifted him a few months back, nursing his baby or humming a lullaby to calm them both down

It’s a nice image, Steve thinks, and can’t wait for the moment it becomes reality.

“Sure,” Billy says. “Whatever you want. As long as we get it done.” He eyes Steve’s stomach critically, as if Steve is in danger of going into labour in the next few seconds.

Once Billy has forced Steve into finally settling on a colour scheme for the nursery, he bans Steve from even being in the same room as the paint before it’s set and ropes the Party into helping him paint the room by way of Max by way of Lucas.

Mike is wide-eyed when he arrives and wide-eyed when he leaves. He keeps muttering, “I don’t understand why I’m here,” but doesn’t seem too put out as Hopper drops off El to join them as well for the four days it takes them to complete the nursery.

Once they finish setting up the last of the baby stuff that Steve’s mother has shipped, Billy is so triumphantly satisfied that the room is now complete that he sweeps Max into his arms and twirls her around in circles to the sound of her giggles and a tune only Billy hears; he doesn’t even complain about Steve being there and possibly breathing in dangerous toxins.

As the kids trickle out of the front door, Dustin pauses long enough to make sure Billy doesn’t hear when he says, “I think I get it now. You and him. He’s good to you.” 

Steve blushes and stutters and has no idea what the hell to say to that because there’s not really a _You and him_ , not the way Dustin means, not really, but dammit, Billy _is_ good to him and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about that, only that he likes it. He really, really likes it.

Dustin laughs and pats him on the arm kindly. “You’ll figure it out eventually,” he says in that surprisingly mature way of his, the one that makes Steve think he is fourteen going on forty, and then takes off after the other kids.

Steve finds himself staring after him and thinking,  _Maybe_.

**

He goes into labour three days later, one week before his due date.

Billy is at work, but he’s instructed Steve to call the garage the second he feels something— _Anything, a_   _contraction, a twinge or so much as a flutter, do you understand?—_ and comes tearing into the driveway once Steve has called to tell him it’s time.

“Did Gary even give you time off?” Steve asks as Billy helps him into the car.

Billy rolls his eyes. “As if I would have cared even if he didn’t,” he says, and no, Steve supposes he wouldn’t have.

The nurse at the check-in desk at the hospital rushes to find a wheelchair as soon as she sees Steve hunched over in Billy’s arms, and it feels as if there is no time at all before Steve is given a bed that he ignores in favour of pushing up against the wall of his room or alternatively pacing the floor because the idea of lying still with this kind of pain is making him nauseous. 

Somehow, he still finds it in himself to be surprised when he throws up. “Oh,” he says, distraught, when he soils his hospital gown.

“Don’t you worry about that, doll,” his nurse says and helps him into a new one. “Sometimes, this happens.”

At some point, Dr. Lima appears to check his opening and decides he’s only at three centimetres, and Steve loses his sense of time to the pain because getting all the way to ten seems like a challenge that is insurmountable.    

Dr. Lima snorts. “You’ll make it, trust me. This is the most natural thing in the world.”

Billy, at least, is a constant presence at his side. He’d called Joyce, and then Dustin, to let them know Steve was in labour once they’d been checked in, but the hospital doesn’t want them clogging up the halls or the waiting room, so Billy had to tell them not to come yet.

“I promise to call them again once the baby is born,” Billy tells him when Steve cries out for Joyce weakly because his own mother isn’t there and Joyce is the closest he has. 

Steve feels impossibly young, a little boy playing at grown-up, and now he’s meant to have a little one of his own.

“I miss my parents,” he whispers to Billy at some point, “I want my parents here,” and Billy gently shushes him and strokes his sweat-soaked hair and says, _I'm sorry they're not here, but I am. I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone_.

When Steve is finally told he’s ready to push, the birth goes quickly enough. They have to artificially rupture the membranes, but then it’s less than thirty minutes and five big pushes before the baby is out. 

Dr. Lima smiles hugely and places Steve’s son on his chest while Billy is made to cut the umbilical cord.

Normally, Steve would have laughed at the pale, blanching look on Billy’s face and the way he has to take several tries because his hand won’t stop shaking when he makes the cut, but Steve is too busy staring at his little boy’s perfect, perfect face to pay much attention to anything else.

His son looks like his own person, Steve thinks, but he also looks like Steve; they’ve got the same soft features and pale skin, but his eyes when they open, are a shock blue. 

Steve gasps, startled, when he first sees them, something just out of reach teasing at the edge of his mind.

He’s distracted quickly enough though, too taken with the baby and wanting to learn all of him at once. He’s ecstatic to see that the baby has got a head full of dark hair, and a cute button nose. He has ten little fingers and ten little toes. One eye and the left side of his face are a little swollen because he’d come out with one hand alongside his head, and as soon as the nurse has him towelled dry she gently extracts him from Steve’s arms and tells him he’ll get him right back; they just have to make sure that the baby didn’t fracture or tear his shoulder when he was born.

The baby is screaming heartily, and Steve cries with him. “Is he in pain?” he asks, concerned, and squeezes Billy’s hand in worry when he slips his hand into Steve’s.

“We’ll see how the examination goes,” is all Dr. Lima says, and Steve thinks that means _yes_.

Luckily, his baby’s shoulder is only sore and no worse off, and he falls into an easy sleep once he’s back in Steve’s arms.

“I can’t believe you made him,” Billy says the first time he gets to hold him. “He’s not even an hour old and he’s already my favourite person in the world.”

Steve laughs wetly. “I know. He’s perfect.”

“Do you know what you want to call him?”

“Benjamin, I think.” Steve stares at his son, smiling widely when his little boy makes a face in his sleep. “It suits him, doesn’t it? He looks like a Ben.”

“Benjamin,” Billy repeats. He gazes down at the baby in his arms, the look on his face one of awe and wonder. “Benjamin Harrington. It’s a good name.”

It _is_ a good name, Steve thinks, and if he wasn’t so exhausted from labour and the hours he’d spent at the hospital suffering through his contractions, he might have noticed the queer tone in Billy’s voice as he’d spoken Benjamin’s full name.

**


	6. Chapter 6

Steve waits just long enough for Ben to go through his first bath and then his first diaper change before he tells Billy to go ahead and call Joyce and Dustin; “I want them here. They’re my family. They should get to meet Ben first.”

“Okay, princess,” Billy says agreeably, ducking to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and then Ben’s from where he’s sleeping on Steve’s chest.  Billy slips out of Steve’s room without another word. “I couldn’t reach Dustin, but I got a hold of Joyce. She said they’d be here as soon as possible,” he promises when he comes back, and sure enough, Dustin and Joyce arrive only a couple of hours later.

“You gotta support the head. No, Christ, not like that, he’s not a damn doll. Like this. Here—”

Steve sniggers as Billy gently shifts the baby in Dustin’s arms and raises his elbow so Ben’s head isn’t quite so tilted down the way it had been. Dustin looks terrified but determined. He’s sitting quietly, obediently letting Billy demonstrate how to hold the baby properly.

“Holy crap,” Dustin says when Billy finally steps back in satisfaction. “I can’t believe you made him,” he tells Steve. He looks down at the baby in awe. “He’s so small! Like, just a few months ago, he didn’t even have lungs and now he’s breathing!”

Steve smiles, watching his baby’s chest go up and down with every inhale and exhale. “He sure is.”

“He’s beautiful, Steve. And Benjamin is such a good name for him.” Joyce leans over Dustin’s shoulder so she can stroke the fine hair on Ben’s forehead. “And his eyes! They’re so blue!”

“Won’t they change?” Dustin asks. “Isn’t that, like, a thing? The baby’s eyes changes after birth.”

“Sometimes, yes,” Steve agrees with a nod. Privately, he hopes they won’t. They’re such a pretty blue.

“Both of my boys did,” Joyce says. “They had such beautiful pale blue eyes, the both of them, like my father had. They were around six months, I think, when the eyes started turning darker and eventually settled on brown.”

“Not always,” Billy says quietly. “Sometimes the eyes don’t change.” His hands are clenching at his sides, and Steve knows he’s itching to have Ben back in his arms. He’s been extremely protective of Ben, hardly letting anyone outside of Steve and Dr. Lima hold the baby without watching them like a hawk.

There had even been some disparaging comments against members of the Party getting to hold Ben _before they know what the hell they’re doing. Over my dead body._

Steve had mostly laughed and nodded his head in agreement. Dustin seems to be doing well enough though; he thinks the rest of the Party, when they first meet Ben, will do just fine.

Joyce hums thoughtfully. She lifts her gaze from Ben to glance up at Billy, eyeing him consideringly. “No,” she says slowly in agreement. “Not always. Sometimes the eyes stay blue.”

Steve blinks at her, because that sounded almost pointed, but he’s distracted from thinking much more about it when the baby starts crying and Dustin shoots him a panicked look. 

“What did I do?” He’s gone stiff with uncertainty, shoulders bunched up around his ears, and Billy is there in an instant, carefully lifting the baby out of Dustin’s arms and deftly shifting him into his own. No awkwardness, no hesitation. He looks as if he’s done it a hundred times before.

“He’s hungry,” Billy says. “Isn’t that right, little one? You want your daddy, don’t you? He’s the one with the milk, isn’t he? Yes, he is. Yes, he is.”

Dustin stares, astonished, and even Joyce seems more than a little surprised by Billy’s behaviour, but Steve only smiles when Billy walks over to his bed with Ben in his arms. Steve is already unbuttoning the top buttons of his hospital gown when he pauses and looks over at Dustin and Joyce.

“Eh,” he says, because he hasn’t nursed Ben in front of anyone but Billy and the nurse who’d guided him through what to do the first time. He’s not embarrassed to feed his baby, but he’s embarrassed to do it in front of Dustin and Joyce, he realises. It’s a private thing, and he feels a little shy about the way his chest has the gentlest of swell to it now, even though his body has been changing for months as his pregnancy progressed.

His stomach is almost entirely gone already, and it’d been comical watching as it literally deflated once Ben was born, but where it’d been taut and firm for so long, now it’s a squishy weight around Steve’s middle, and the tiny breasts he’d developed in his last trimester still remain—will remain for as long as he’s nursing.

Joyce seems to read the hesitant look on his face and quickly ushers Dustin out of the room. “We’ll just step outside for a moment. Get you something from the cafeteria. Sandwich sound good?”

“Yes, please,” Steve says as Billy carefully places Ben into his waiting arms. He smiles down at the baby. “And some apple juice, maybe?”

Joyce nods easily. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Steve lifts his head to smile at her gratefully before he’s focusing back on his son. He gently encourages Ben to latch onto his bared nipple while Joyce and Billy talk quietly by the door before Joyce is closing it behind her.

Billy settles down in the chair next to the bed, watching with a small smile on his face as Ben huffs around Steve’s nipple; he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of breathing and suckling at the same time yet.

“You okay?” Billy asks when Steve makes a face at a particularly harsh tug.

Steve hums. “Yeah. Just, not used to it yet, I guess. Hurts a little.”

Billy nods. “The nurse said it might for a while,” he reminds him, and Steve suppresses a grin, feeling so, so grateful that Billy is there with him. That he’s listening intently to everything the doctors and nurses are saying, even writing down notes on a filchered piece of paper Steve is pretty sure came out of a bible, but he’s not about to question it—not when Billy’s attentiveness means that Steve can relax just that tiny bit more because he knows, he _knows_ , that even if he were to forget something, whatever it may be, Billy will be there to remind him.

It makes Steve feel a little less overwhelmed. Less as if he has to do everything himself.

The fact that it’s _Billy_ doing this with him, that it’s Billy making him breathe easier, is something Steve is willfully going to ignore thinking about. At least for the moment.

They’ve never talked about what Billy’s plans were for when after the baby was born. Their housing situation is still mostly an unspoken agreement, but Steve has been operating under the assumption that Billy is staying indefinitely.

He hopes this is what Billy has been planning anyway, because the thought of being alone with Ben, of having to do everything on his own, is so daunting that Steve doesn’t even want to think about it.

“I know,” Steve says as he feels Ben give another little tug of his nipple. “It’s just weird, is all.” Weird and wonderful and so magical that he couldn’t ever dream of not going through this, of not having the experience of nursing his child. He knows it would have been perfectly valid not to, knows that he himself had mostly been bottle-fed because his mother’s nipples had ended up more bloodied than not and in the end the pain had been too much for her, but Steve likes that he gets to have this with Ben. Likes how right it feels even through the unfamiliar ache.

Billy hums. “You’re doing good, though. Total natural.”

Steve looks away from Ben at that, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glances up and meets Billy’s gaze. “Yeah?” he asks, feeling his lips stretch into a grin at the easy confidence in Billy’s voice.

“Definitely,” Billy says with all the authority of a person used to having the final say, and usually that annoys Steve because it makes Billy so very insufferable—more than usual, even—but today it only makes him grin wider and look back at his baby.

_Yeah_ , he thinks. He’s got this.   

**

They stay at the hospital for three days before they’re sent home. 

Steve is…anxious.

The hospital has been a safe place with doctors and nurses to help with Ben and to answer the thousand and one questions Steve has about child rearing. Now, he is expected to do it on his own.

Well. Not _entirely_ on his own.  

“That’s a baby seat,” he says dumbly when Billy pulls the car up to the hospital’s main entrance and rushes around the side of the car to open the door to the backseat.

“Yeah,” is all Billy says, and the look he sends Steve suggests that he has a few questions about Steve’s intelligence that he is kind enough not to voice aloud.

Steve glares at him. “Where did the seat come from is my question here,” he says. He’s ashamed that it’s one of the few things he hasn’t thought to purchase in the weeks before he gave birth—and it hadn’t been part of his mother’s shipment of baby paraphernalia either, thorough as it had been. He’s been so taken with Ben he hadn’t even considered it before Billy brought the car around.

“I bought it, of course,” Billy says easily, as if that is a perfectly reasonable thing for him to have done. “Talked to old man Gary,” he continues. “He’s installed a lot of them in his time, knows which ones are best and all. Told me to get this one. It’s detachable and everything. Come on, I’ll show you how to do it.”

Steve stares at him. “You bought a car seat for the baby?” 

“Is what I just said, isn’t it?” Billy is all bluster and faux casualness, but Steve can see the worry underneath, the hint of uncertainty that Billy might have overstepped and no, absolutely not. They’re not doing that.

“Come here,” he says, and when Billy doesn’t move, looking five seconds away from bolting out of there despite being Steve and Ben’s ride, Steve closes the distance between them himself, making sure Ben is tucked securely in the crook of his elbow before he lifts his free arm to drag Billy in for a gentle hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers against Billy’s ear. He is so grateful that Billy has taken care of this for him, that he thought to remember that this was something Steve was missing and would be needing for the baby; he doesn’t want Billy to think he’s made a mistake or that Steve is somehow angry at him, not for one second. “I completely forgot about getting a car seat. Thank you for remembering. And for buying one. I’ll pay you back, okay? Don’t worry, I’ll—”

“Did I ask you to pay me back, stupid?” Billy snaps out, and it’s such a contrast to the way he so very carefully wraps his arms around Steve’s back, making sure not to squish the baby between them. “It’s a gift. Not like I could just buy something like this for you and expect you to pay me back without consulting you anyway. Keep your money. It’s a gift,” he repeats, and when he pulls back from their embrace he’s got a glare on his face—it’s the same one he puts on when he wants to disguise the fact that he’s done something sweet. As if pulling his brows into a frown and twisting his lips into a sneer will keep Steve from noticing the way he’s actually helping or being nice. That it will hide the way all Billy does these days usually end up being something that benefits Steve anyway.

**_You’re_** _stupid,_ Steve thinks. _I’m so in love with you_.

The thought hits him so sudden and with so little subtlety it’s as if someone has slapped him upside the head with the very idea of it.

Steve is in love with Billy Hargrove, and he has been for a while.

_Oh_.

That certainly puts things into perspective. What is Steve even supposed to do with that?

“What?” Billy says. “Are you going to cry again?” It’s more teasing than an actual complaint, and Steve doesn’t miss the way Billy steps close again, lifting his arms in an aborted move, as if he wants to pull Steve in for another hug.

Steve can’t help his smile, even if he _does_ feel a little like crying. “Shut up,” he says, “and show me how to work the car seat.”

“So bossy,” Billy snarks, but he’s gentle when he reaches out for Ben, cradling him into his arms as if the baby is someone infinitely precious to him.

Steve breathes in sharply and feels his heart skip a beat.

“Are you paying attention?” Billy asks as he glances up at Steve from where he’s been buckling Benjamin into the seat, making sure the straps are _over his shoulders, see? You want to make sure he’s buckled in properly, just tug right here and then you can adjust how tight you want the straps to be and—_

“Yes,” Steve says faintly. “I’m paying attention.” 

For the first time since Billy Hargrove bought him crushed ice in the middle of a warm August night, Steve is finally paying attention.

**

Steve and Billy come home to a clean and tidy house. Steve’s brows immediately go up. Neither of them are slobs, but it definitely hadn’t looked like that when they left. Steve had gone into labour a week before he was due, and he hadn’t exactly thought to do a lot of cleaning before he got Billy to pick him up. He’d been making dinner when the first contraction hit—the first one he could no longer ignore, anyway—and he’d calmly shut down all the appliances, but he hadn’t gotten as far as to throw away the food.

The packages they’ve had stacked in the hallway, full of baby furniture and baby clothing, are also gone.

“What—?”

“The kids were here,” Billy explains. “Dustin asked for the keys when they came to visit after Ben was born. Said they’d do some cleaning for us so the house was ready for you and Ben. They washed the floors and everything, apparently. Even got the Wheeler girl and her boy toy to drive them to the store for groceries. Got a stacked fridge for you, princess.”

Steve doesn’t even bother pretending he’s not crying at that. Family isn’t always blood and the people you were born to, he reminds himself, and he loves his family so very, very much. “I can’t believe they did this. I was thinking we would definitely be needing to go out for food.”

“Nope,” Billy says, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “We got this. You just take Ben and get comfortable in the living room, okay? I’ll run upstairs and grab the crib from the nursery. I’m betting we’ll need it; we’re probably going to get a bunch of visitors for this little man.” He leans over to peer at where the baby is sleeping comfortably in Steve’s arms. When Billy reaches out and strokes a finger from Ben’s forehead and down the bridge of his nose, Ben scrunches his little face in the cutest way and Steve just about melts on the spot.

“He’s literally so perfect,” he brags, totally enraptured by the baby, feeling as if he’ll drown with how much love he’s feeling for his son; he’s constantly amazed that someone so little and so new can have him wrapped around their whole being so soon. There isn’t anything in the world that Steve wouldn’t do for Benjamin.

(It breaks him a little, that his parents never seem to have felt this way about Steve, as much as he knows they really do love him.)

“I love you so much,” he tells Ben, wants him to hear it as often as possible, even when he’s sleeping, even when he doesn’t know what those words mean yet. “You’re so perfect,” Steve repeats hoarsely.

“Yeah,” he hears Billy agree. “He is.”

**

Steve is happy not to have taken Billy up on his bet about visitors, because from the time they get home and settled in, they seem to have a never-ending stream of them. The kids are almost always around, especially Dustin, who Steve sometimes feel have moved in right along with them. Not that he minds, but he worries about Mrs. Henderson being on her own too much.

Dustin tells him not to worry, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he reveals that Mrs. Henderson has met someone, a _special_ someone, he emphasises, and doesn’t do his usual purr, which is how Steve knows it’s serious.

He’s still taken aback by it, because he and Mrs. Henderson are close; they talk on the phone all the time, about Dustin, coordinating outings and discussing grades and the like. Not to mention that Mrs. Henderson, like Dustin—like _Steve_ —is an oversharer, and this seems like something she would have told him, especially as it affects Dustin.

Dustin only shrugs easily when Steve tells him this. “You’ve been busy,” he says, unconcerned. And yes, Steve has, but still. 

He makes a mental note to call Mrs. Henderson later—if nothing else, to thank her for the stuffed toy—a large, plush dog—she’d bought and brought along to the hospital the first time she came to see Ben. It’d been adorable. Steve had named it Rusty.

Even Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler make an appearance at the house, showing up with a casserole and a present for Ben, along with Barb’s parents—who Steve still keeps in touch with even though it’s been a year since he and Nancy split, even though he never really knew Barb in her own right.  

They both cry when Steve offers to let them hold Ben, and when they leave, Mr. Holland pulls him into his arms and says, “You’ll be a good parent, Steve, I can tell already. Treasure the time you have together; it goes by too quick.”

“I will,” Steve promises solemnly, and he aches so much for these two dedicated people who hadn’t even gotten to bury the child they loved, and still love, so much—because all they’re left with now, a year after her funeral and two years after her death, is just an empty casket and a little bit of closure.

When the door closes behind them, Billy looks at him intently, a question writ large on his face, but Steve only bites his lip and says nothing. He wouldn’t even know how to explain it. It’s been so long since he’s thought about the shit that went down last year. It seems like such a different time, as if the time before he was pregnant, the time before Ben, wasn’t quite real.

He’s still struggling to accept that the Upside Down wasn’t just a dream—that the monsters, the demogorgons, was something solid and tangible that he fought with a group of kids and holy hell how had they even _survived?_

He doesn't want to think about it, so he doesn’t. But that’s not always fair to Will, who is still scarred by his time there, to El, who opened and closed the gate, or to Mr. and Mrs. Holland, who still doesn’t know the truth about what really happened to Barbara.

“Hey, you okay?” Billy asks quietly, and when Steve shakes his head no, too distraught to speak, Billy says, “Come here,” and tugs at Steve’s wrist until he falls into Billy’s side and allows himself to tuck his face into the crook of Billy’s neck. “Is this about whatever the hell went on last year, with the Byers kid?” Billy asks gruffly, says _the Byers kid_ as if Will isn’t over almost daily with the rest of the Party.

“Yes,” Steve admits.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve shakes his head again. “No.”

“Okay,” Billy says, easy as anything, and holds Steve until they hear Ben start crying from his crib in the living room.

**

Another surprise visitor is Susan Hargrove. She shows up with Max one day, nervous and tentative, and the whole time she is there everyone very carefully does not mention Neil.

She brings along a present—a knitted baby blanket, which is fortunate seeing as Steve never managed to finish even a third of his own project, and smiles painfully at Billy when he accepts it on Steve’s behalf. She spends most of the visit cooing over Ben once Steve hands him to her. She holds him expertly, and answers all of Steve’s question about what Max had been like as a baby, asking for the experiences Susan had as a first-time mother; he’s been picking everyone’s brains, wants as much information as possible, desperately wants to be prepared in case something should happen to Ben.

Even Billy thinks he’s stressing too much about it, but Steve can’t help it. He can’t help worrying, can’t help getting up in the middle of the night just to check that Ben is breathing; if Steve is in the kitchen cooking dinner, or doing laundry in the laundry room while Billy is in the living room watching Ben for him, he keeps calling out to Billy to check to see if the baby is okay.

_Yes_ , _princess_ , _Ben is okay_ , Billy will say, exasperated, but he’s gentle about it. Understanding. _The same as he was five minutes ago._

“Benjamin is beautiful,” Susan tells Steve when she’s putting on her coat and scarf later. Billy and Max are still in the living room, Billy supervising Max supervising Ben. 

_I’m staying_ , Max had declared to the surprise of no one when Susan started making noise about it being time to leave—to Susan’s credit, she’d only sighed and shook her head gently before acquiescing.

“Looks like his father,” Susan continues warmly. “He even has Billy’s eyes. Thank you for having me today. I had a lovely time. Could I come back, you think? To visit Ben?”

She looks so hopeful, her sad eyes glistening a little wetly, and Steve can’t find it in himself to deny her even if Billy probably won’t like it and Steve has never had anything do with her before now. He idly wonders who her friends are, or if she has any at all. What people does she socialises with outside of her awful husband? And the fact that he has to wonder, that he can’t be sure she has anyone in her life besides her immediate family, makes him so incredibly sad. She must be lonely, he thinks, and Steve knows what loneliness does to a person. He reminds himself that this woman is Max’s mother, and that Max loves her—and Billy loves Max.

Billy will do a great many things for Max, and, as he is coming to learn, _Steve_ will do a great many things for _Billy_.

“Of course,” Steve tells her. “Billy is at work during the day, but I’m usually always here. I’ll give you our phone number so you can call ahead if you want to stop by. Sometimes we’re out on errands and whatnot. We try to get out with Ben as much as possible. I don’t want to be one of those people who end up spending all my time at home because of the baby, you know.”

Susan laughs as he pulls out a pen and a piece of paper from the drawer in the hallway before scribbling down their phone number. She accepts the note gratefully, careful not to wrinkle the paper as she tucks it into her purse. “Then you’re a better parent than me. I thought it was such a hassle bringing Max with me when she was a newborn. There was just so many baby things to remember; I usually ended up staying home more often than not.”

“Billy helps,” Steve says, matter of fact, even though he understands _exactly_ what she means. “That makes it easier.”

“Yes,” Susan says, casting her eyes over Steve’s shoulder to where they can hear Max and Billy talk in the living room. “I imagine it does. Well, I should be getting home. My husband will be expecting dinner when he comes home from work. Goodbye, Steve.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Hargrove,” Steve says, and watches as Susan climbs into her car and pulls out of the driveway. He stares after her until the car disappears from sight, feeling something deliberate pushing at the corners of his mind.

_He looks like his father_ , Susan had said, and Ben does resemble Steve a lot—everyone says so—but that’s not what Susan had meant, because she’d followed it up with, _He even has Billy’s eyes._

Steve doesn’t think she’d meant that in a coincidental way, because— 

Because.

_He even has Billy’s eyes._  

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to apologise for the lateness of this chapter. I had planned on posting this way earlier, but I go distracted from writing by other things. I feel as if I'm posting in a hurry now, so I apologise if there are any egregious mistakes.
> 
> Second of all, a huge thanks to all of you for your continued support! I'm so pleased you seem to like this story, I can't even tell you!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.


	7. Chapter 7

It takes Steve a while to process Susan’s words.

_He even has Billy’s eyes_ , he thinks, and can barely breathe from the truth of it.

Steve walks back into the house in a daze, mumbling something about getting dinner started and asking Billy to look after the baby as he walks past the living room into the kitchen. He can feel Billy’s gaze on him as he walks by, his blue eyes tracking Steve until he’s disappeared around the corner. His gaze is heavy, as solid on Steve’s skin as if Billy was touching him physically.

Steve shudders. He works on autopilot as he pulls out ingredients from the fridge and cabinets and starts putting together a pie—vegetarian, because Max has temporarily become one after Mike had bet her she couldn’t even go a week without meat after watching her demolish an entire pizza by her lonesome.

That was three weeks ago.

Steve has put together more vegetarian dishes than he can count in that time, and the ease and familiarity of it now lets his mind drift as he goes through the motions.

But what if, he thinks, Billy _isn’t_ the other parent. What if he’s _not_ Benjamin’s father and Steve is only projecting; he wouldn’t mind Billy being the father, wouldn’t mind that at all, and it would be so easy if Susan wasn’t mistaken, if she wasn’t seeing what Steve wants to be true—what everybody who don’t know them think is the truth, because people always make assumptions and Steve and Billy rarely correct them.  

Even the Party seems to have settled on Benjamin belonging to the both of them, even if that isn’t strictly true.

But. 

It feels true, is the thing. Feels right, and as Steve looks into his baby’s wide-open eyes as he nurses at Steve’s nipple later that night, he thinks it must be.

_He even has Billy’s eyes_.

He keeps thinking about those words. His mind plays them on a loop, like a scratch in a record and now the song is stuck, repeating the same lyrics over and over.

_He even has Billy’s eyes._

Not Steve’s. Billy’s.

**

Steve feels wholly unprepared for this kind of epiphany. It eats at him, chipping away at his focus until he feels as if he’s in a constant state of distraction. He keeps going back and forth, more indecisive than he’s ever been: true or false? Wishful thinking or fact? Yes or no?

The distraction is enough to make him more than a little absent-minded, and Billy only laughs at his ditziness, blaming Steve’s newfound inattentiveness on his lingering pregnancy brain and the haze Dr. Lima had warned them might occur along with the newborn and the nursing—the ‘newborn haze’, she’d called it.

It’s an easy excuse, and Billy makes plenty of jokes about Steve’s scatterbrain, but his eyes when he watches Steve are worried. Hesitant.

They both know Steve didn’t have much of a pregnancy brain to begin with. And even now he’s not forgetful. Just. Distracted.

“Are you okay, Steve?” Joyce asks him during lunch at the diner close to the police station one day. 

Billy is at work, but Joyce has a rare day off, and she’d called earlier in the day, inviting Steve out for lunch in a thinly veiled plot to get to see Ben even though she actually sees him fairly regularly. She calls herself Aunt Joy, and Hopper, who they’ve managed to lure away from work with the promise of free burgers, has become Uncle Jim, but Steve doesn’t fool himself; they are more Ben’s grandparents than Steve’s own mom and dad.

His parents still haven’t been by to see the baby. Even though his mother had promised— _Of course, we’ll drop by, darling! I’m sure little Benjamin is as beautiful as you were, and you were such a pretty baby, Steve. Everybody said so._

Steve tries not to think about that too much.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, summoning up a smile as he watches Hopper coo at Ben. Ben coos back.

Joyce furrows her brows, unconvinced, but it’s Hopper who says, “You sure? You’ve seemed a little out of it since you got here.”

Steve shrugs. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess. We’re bringing this one to his six-week checkup soon.” He reaches across the table to tug gently at Ben’s foot, chuckling when Ben scrunches up his face in protest and wriggles a little in Hopper’s arms. He’s ticklish.

“You worried?”

“No. No, not really. He’s perfectly fine, just. Nerves, I guess.” It’s not a lie, not really. Steve _is_ nervous about the checkup—not because he thinks there is anything wrong, but they’ll still be prodding his baby and taking measurements and stuff, and he wants everything to go okay—but it’s Billy that’s really on his mind.

He almost always is.  

Joyce hums in agreement. “I remember bringing Jonathan in for his first checkup; it was easier with Will. With Jonathan it was the first time, and I got so caught up thinking about everything that could be wrong. Lonnie suggested I had a drink before going in.” She rolls her eyes with great prejudice, and Steve and Hopper share a look of amusement.

Sometimes, Steve really wonders what Joyce ever saw in her ex-husband.

“Well,” Hopper says. He beams down at Benjamin, shifting his hold on him expertly when Ben makes a face that Steve has come to learn means impending screams of complaint. “Everything will probably be okay.”

**

And it is.

Steve and Billy bring Ben to his six-week checkup and then another at twelve weeks—"He's progressing beautifully," Dr. Lima assures them, laugh lines crinkling in satisfaction around her eyes and mouth when Billy manages to tease a laugh out of Ben. It’s a relatively new development; Steve feels as if his heart will burst every time he hears the sweet sound.   

“He’s tracking movement, recognises faces. He’s obviously a happy baby. You’re doing great work,” she tells them, both of them, because that’s what people do when they talk about Ben now: they address the them both, as if Steve and Billy are one unit. 

“Excellent job on the parenting. A+.”

Steve bites his lip. _Yes_ , he thinks as he watches Billy pepper Ben’s face with loud, smacking kisses and happily compliment the baby on growing on track—“Solid accomplishment, that. Good job, Benny boy!” 

_A+._

** 

The thing is, Steve thinks later, is that it would be so convenient. 

Steve is in love with Billy. He has been for days, weeks, _months_ , and he wants for Billy to be the other parent; the father. He wants Billy to love Benjamin as much as Steve does—wants Billy to love _Steve—_ and it would be so very, very easy to believe. 

Billy already acts like it. He gets up in the early hours of the night unless he's got work in the morning, and then even some nights when he does, uncaring of the missed hours of rest and how sleep deprivation can make working with automobiles a challenge. He changes diapers and soothes Ben when he's upset, and sometimes he just sits with Steve when he's nursing the baby, because Steve is always awake it feels like and sometimes he feels like crying from the lack of sleep. Ben is generally a calm baby, but he gets fussy at night, as if the world has too much to offer and he can't bear to go to sleep for the chance that he'll miss something spectacular, even at night, when everything is dark and still. 

It's exhausting for everyone involved, but Dr. Lima has assured him that it's nothing unusual, that now that Ben is at the three-month mark, they'll have an easier time of keeping to a schedule that Ben will actually adhere to.  

Steve loves being a parent, he truly, really loves it, but it isn't always easy. 

It’s not always easy, and he never thought it would be, but he’s not alone the way he’d thought he’d be either. He’s not doing it on his own. He’s got Billy right there through all of it. Not just the diaper changes and the late-night feedings, but the random bouts of inconsolable crying and the refusal to sleep; through the outings and checkups and bathing and all of it—all of the things that Steve does that make him a parent, Billy does to.  

It scares him sometimes, just how firmly and effortlessly Billy has carved a place for himself into Steve's life, and Ben’s now too, with an easy grace and swagger that would have annoyed Steve even just six months ago, since before that summer night in August. 

Since before _What you did today was dangerous_ and _He even has Billy’s eyes._

It feels weird to think about how there was a time Billy wasn’t even someone Steve liked and now he is someone Steve isn’t sure what he’d do without. He’d be lost without Billy, he thinks, and the truth is that Billy could have packed up a hundred different times in the last few months and Steve wouldn’t have blamed him, not really, but Billy hasn’t. He’s stayed, and he keeps staying, and Steve is so pathetically grateful some days it’s all he can do to keep from sobbing with relief.

Billy cares so much about the people in his life, and there's not a lot of them, but those select few that he keeps close are usually what gets him into trouble too. Or it used to be, before Billy stopped listening to what Neil Hargrove had to say, before he started to accept that violence rarely solves anything. There is still plenty of rage in him, fury he'll mould into fisted hands and bunched up muscles if he thinks someone he cares about has been slighted, but he doesn’t ever direct that at Steve, not since _Before_ and never at Ben at all. 

Because…because Billy loves them, Steve knows. He loves both of them, and Steve will never, for as long as he lives, take for granted that Billy feels that way about them.

It's humbling and raw and lovely _—loving_.  

Steve feels loved in a way he hasn't in a long, long time. In a way that makes him feel precious, as if Steve is someone Billy can't quite believe he gets to have in his life, and that extends to Ben because of course it does, because everything extends to Ben these days—their lives pretty much revolve around that little boy, and isn't that everything Steve needs and wants in the first place? 

Because. 

Because it doesn't matter. 

It doesn't matter in the end, not really, if Billy is the father or not, if his desire is what wished Ben into this world, because at the end of the day Billy _is_ the father, regardless of genetics and biology and everything else. 

_He even has Billy’s eyes._

Steve would love it if Ben is here because of Billy's wish, but he doesn't _need_ it to be true. Billy is still the father, has chosen that role for himself, chosen this life, with Steve and Ben, and that is all Steve cares about. That's what he needs. 

And that's what he has. 

** 

Steve still can’t help but wonder, though. He thinks if Billy really is Ben's other parent, then surely, Billy will want to know?   

He wants to bring it up, or even just explain that Steve considers Billy to be the other father regardless of everything else, but he can never find the right words. Every time he tries to tell him, the words come out awkward and unintelligible and Billy always looks at him as if Steve is someone he's very fond of but is just a little bit stupid. As if Billy only tolerates him because Steve is 'pretty'—"Such a pretty princess"—even though Steve knows that's a lie.  

Well. A half lie. Billy does think he's pretty—he says so often enough—but the jokes about Steve's intelligence are just that. Mostly. Probably.  

(There had been some disparaging comments about his math abilities after Steve had sat down to help the Party with an assignment the other day; he was unceremoniously exiled from the kitchen once Billy came home and saw the 'help' he'd given.) 

He can't help but wonder if Billy thinks about it too. If Billy looks at Ben, at his blue eyes, and thinks, _Is he mine?_

The words are on the tip of his tongue, and he almost blurts it all out a dozen times in the course of a week, but something always holds him back—it’s that little bit of fear that Steve will be rocking the boat if he verbalises his thoughts. As if he's tricked Billy into a sense of tranquillity and if Steve voices his questions aloud Billy might wake up and realise he's nineteen and playing at family with Steve and a baby. A baby that might not even be his. But might be too. 

A part of him knows it won't happen. Steve knows, rationally, that Billy wouldn't have gotten as involved as he is now if he didn't mean it, if he didn't mean to stay, but the fear still clings to Steve's lungs, small lumps of little _what if_ s he breathes around every day. 

In the end, Dustin, as he often is, is the one who bursts the bubble. 

"Do you ever wonder who the other parent is?" he says one night. He's grinning, toothless, at where Ben is wriggling on his little jungle gym, laughing when one of Ben's arms hits one of the toys hanging from the mobile above and makes a sound; Ben's eyes go wide in shocked surprise.

"No," Billy says. 

"Really?" Dustin goes on absently, distracted by Ben gurgling inquiringly at the squeaky toy, and he says something more, but Steve is no longer paying attention. 

His head has snapped around to stare at Billy, because that wasn't a _no_ as in _No, I don't care so I don't think about it_ kind of no. Or a _No, I don't want to know_ , or even _No, it doesn't matter._

That was a _no_ as in _No, I don't wonder._

_I already know._

Billy meets Steve's gaze steadily, his face blank and his mouth parted casually. His limbs are carefully loose. Steve can't read his face at all, has no idea what he's thinking.

"I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?" he hears Dustin say somewhere in the background. "What matters is that he's here, right?" 

"That's right," Billy agrees, and his eyes keep steady on Steve for a long, long moment before he moves his gaze to Dustin and the baby. "By the way, how did your math assignment go?"  

Steve keeps staring at Billy as he and Dustin talk—Ben interjects with the occasional coo or cry for attention and eventually, Dustin has to pick him up—and Steve feels something knock loose from the tightness in his lungs, finally. 

Billy, Steve knows, has a talent for saying a lot that means very little, and a little that means a lot. 

He thinks _this_ is a case of the latter. 

** 

"You think Ben is yours." 

Steve is mortified, cheeks blooming a violent red. That was not at all how he'd planned on phrasing that. "I mean, he is, regardless. Truly. You've proven that a thousand times over in the last three months, but you think he's yours biologically. You think it was your wish that got me pregnant." 

Billy peers at Steve from over the top of his reading glasses—Steve is only a little ashamed of the way he'd gleefully teased him when Billy came home one day with a new book and a pair of reading glasses in his breast pocket. It wasn’t so much the fact that Billy needed glasses that got him, but rather that Billy had felt the need to hide them from Steve for so long. The teasing was definitely warranted. 

"Yes," Billy says calmly. He puts his book on the nightstand next to his side of the bed and turns to look at Steve properly.  

They sleep in the same bed, have been since they brought Ben home from the hospital, and in the beginning it had made sense for reasons Steve doesn’t even remember anymore and now it just _is_ —fifty per cent of Billy's clothing has made its way into Steve's closet, Billy’s toiletry is stationed next to Steve’s in the ensuite bathroom and Steve knows that he can be slow on the uptake sometimes, but this is extreme levels of obliviousness, even for him. 

"You always did," Steve says slowly. His lashes flutter uselessly; he feels breathless with the realisation. "Not always, obviously, but once you found out Benjamin was a wishbaby, that I wasn't the one who made the wish. You knew then." It comes out maybe a little more accusatory than he was going for, but Billy seems to take it in stride. 

He leans over to stroke a hand over Ben's hair, smiling gently, lovingly, at the sight of him latched on to Steve's nipple. Benjamin has gotten better at it now, more conscious of what he needs to do to breathe and swallow the milk at the same time; and he's an easy baby in this, nursing often but for short periods every time. It's only at night that Ben latches on properly, content to use Steve as a substitute for the pacifiers he cares very little for even though Billy keeps telling Steve he shouldn't let him. 

_You'll get him into a habit._

"It wasn't particularly hard to figure out, no," Billy says. "It was obvious you had no idea, though, and you didn't seem to be in a rush to find out." 

" _I_ didn't seem—" 

Steve cuts himself off and takes a deep, calming breath. He feels a surge of anger, of betrayal at having been left in the dark…   

But with the anger comes an equal powerful wave of love, because Steve _knows_ Billy, pretty well after all this time, and he thinks Billy must have stayed, first with Steve and then Ben too, deliberately keeping the truth to himself because he's been thinking Steve wouldn't like it and Billy didn't want to leave. 

Which is just _so Billy_ , Steve feels a little like screaming in frustration. 

"You're an idiot," he says instead and viciously enjoys Billy's wounded look. Good. "You're an idiot, but I love you, and you're Benjamin's father and I don't even know how to deal with you right now." 

This time, Billy is the one who blinks helplessly. "You love me?" he asks, voice small and so raw with hope, and of course that is the part he would focus on.  

"Obviously." Steve rolls his eyes and gently tugs Ben away from his nipple. "Now here, take your son and change his diaper." 

"Just like that?" Billy demands, but there's a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth now, and he accepts Ben into his arms with practiced ease. 

Steve tilts his head thoughtfully. "Well, we should probably get it confirmed so we can update Ben's birth certificate, but yeah. Easy as pie." 

"Easy as pie, huh? Says the guy who didn't even know what Pi is." 

"Listen here, asshole, I know how to make pies and how to eat pies, and that's obviously more important than some stupid math thing—" 

"Oh my god, some stupid math thing he says, do you hear that Benny?" 

"—and you can take your Pi and show it up your as—" 

"Okay, okay!" Billy says with a laugh, and his smile has become a full-blown grin now. He climbs out of bed, mindful not to jostle Ben, who is grunting his general displeasure drowsily. Billy coos at him, calming the baby as swiftly and efficiently as Steve would have and how the hell had Steve needed this to be pointed out to him? 

How had it taken him _weeks_ after it had to confirm it for himself?

Billy is Benjamin's father. 

He could cry from the obviousness of it. 

"Hey." He feels fingers settle under his chin, and then his head is being tilted up just so, and there Billy is, face bright and open, with their son tucked safely against one shoulder. "Don't think too hard, yeah?" he says gently, and the kiss he presses to Steve's mouth is just as gentle, just as warm and promising and full of something small and delicate and steady that feels a lot like love.

It's their first kiss. It feels like their hundredth.

_I love you,_ Steve thinks, _and you love me too._

And the thought isn’t new exactly, because Steve has known Billy loves him, but he hasn’t been aware that he feels the same way Steve does, that Billy is _in love_ with him, and that is wondrous and all kinds of amazing and, “I _am_ , Steve. I am so in love with you, I have been for ages,” and _oh_ , Steve has been thinking aloud but that’s okay, because Billy loves him. Really, truly loves him. 

Steve can't help but beam up at Billy and say, "Kiss me again." 

(Billy does.)     

**

Dr. Lima actually rolls her eyes when they show up to confirm that Ben is Billy’s, and yeah, Steve probably deserves that, because it is painfully obvious now that he knows, but at least it’s official now too.

“Congratulations,” she tells Billy gently when she shows them the updated records, and she is kind enough not to mention the tears in both their eyes and the catch in Billy’s voice when he offers up a choked, “Thank you.”

Joyce, when they tell her, is unsurprised. “I had guessed,” she admits, looking a little apologetic about it. “I would have brought it up soon if you hadn’t figured it out, but I thought Billy probably wanted to tell you himself.”

Which is all well and good, but Steve wonders if Billy would have ever gotten around to it if Steve hadn’t been the one to bring it up; Billy, like Steve, can be phenomenally stupid. Steve thinks Billy honestly would have suffered in silence as long as it meant he was guaranteed a place in Benjamin’s life—as if _Steve_ would have denied him had he known.

Seriously. The idiot.

(But then again, glasshouses and all that.)

The Party, at least, is a little more surprised when they invite the kids over for pizza to tell them. Well, they invite Dustin and Max. Everybody else tags along.

Mike and Lucas are satisfyingly shocked, and Will is too, to a lesser degree. El, though, looks like her usual, knowing self, while Dustin nods and says, “Makes sense,” and seems entirely untroubled by it all.

Max, who is finally over her vegetarian stint, shoves another slice of pizza into her mouth and declares, “I’ve always known Ben is my nephew,” while glaring at the rest of them defiantly.

Lucas stares at her with awe.

“Brat,” Billy says, but he sounds fond, and it’s hard to take him seriously anyway when he’s got Ben sleeping against his shoulder and one arm thrown around Steve’s chair; he keeps leaning over to steal small, obvious kisses just to freak the Party out and also because they do that now. Kiss, that is.

Steve wants to climb him like a tree.

“Would you ever want another one?” Steve asks him in bed later that night. They’ve got Ben resting between the two of them, and they should have put him to sleep in his crib hours ago, but the kids had stayed for longer than expected and now instead of just sleepy, Ben is in that stage where he is sleepy but also stubbornly awake. Steve smiles at him and laughs when Ben smiles back happily.

It doesn’t matter how many times he sees that beautiful smile; it’s always the best thing he’s ever seen.

“You’d like a little sister or brother, wouldn't you?” he asks Ben, bussing kisses all over his face and grinning so wide it hurts when Ben squeals with delight and makes a valiant effort to purse his own lips in an imitation of a kiss. “That’s right, baby, Daddy is kissing you! Are you kissing me back? Are you gonna kiss me back?”

Billy laughs. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. He reaches over Ben, taking Steve’s hand in his and threading their fingers together before drawing close enough to kiss the back of Steve’s hand. “I wouldn’t mind another one,” he admits. He looks down at Ben, and Steve is pretty sure he could drown in all the love he sees in his eyes. “Ben is amazing, and I love him so much, you know. Any kid of ours would be amazing.” He shifts his gaze back to Steve, leering. “Maybe this time we’ll do it the traditional way.”

“ _You’re_ the ridiculous one,” Steve giggles when Billy wiggles his brows exaggeratedly. And then he blushes, because there have been kisses but not much else and Steve wants that _a lot_.

He’s kind of relieved that Billy wants that too, that he wants Steve like that, even after the pregnancy.

“I always want you,” Billy says, “no matter what you look like,” and Steve really does have to stop thinking aloud, but he can’t bring himself to care too much when Billy’s eyes have gone dark with lust and Steve really, really needs for Ben to fall asleep now.

It take hours and a few false starts, but then Steve and Billy are getting to know each other in a whole new way. And then again. And again.

After, when they’re sweaty and exhausted and Billy says something about thanking god it’s the weekend because no way was he going into work in the morning, Steve feels better and more loose than he thinks he’s ever been post-coital.

He lets Billy gather him into his arms and grouses about being the little spoon only because his nipples are too sensitive to press against anything before he’s lactating all over the place.

“Just let me hold you, princess,” Billy says, chuckling at Steve’s grouching. He nuzzles into Steve’s nape, and Steve can hear him, breathing in the scent of him, of the two of them, and Steve thinks if he can have this for the rest of his life, Billy and Ben and any other kids that may come along, Steve won’t ever need anything else.

He’ll be happy, he thinks. Through good times and bad and that—

That is so far from the soul-crushing loneliness Steve knew for years.

 _Never again_ , he thinks, and knows it to be true, because Billy will be there, always, and their son will be too.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, and lets Billy hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you very much to everyone who hung around until the end -- your continued support has been much appreciated!


End file.
